More Things Involving Shipgirls That Are No Longer Allowed
by CV12Hornet
Summary: After 2000 rules - and 2000 incidents behind the rules - you'd think the shipgirls of the world would figure out how to behave themselves. You would be wrong.
1. Rule 2003

**Rule 2003. Do not bring an Ouija board near USS New York nor say something about witnessing.  
**  
"Ah buh buh buh!" Intrepid snapped, blocking the pier with her body. "You are _not_ taking that thing near New York!"

"But why?" Bagley, carrying an ouija board, whined.

"Because speaking as someone who was a New Yorker for a couple decades, they really don't appreciate disturbing _anything_ related to that day." The fleet carrier grimaced. "You were all asleep, so you don't understand, but... think Pearl Harbor, without the righteous vengeance afterwards."

That shut the destroyers up, all of them looking somber. Finally, Blue broke from Helm and Mugford, putting a hand on her eldest sister's shoulder. "We should go," she said kindly.

"'Kay..."

Intrepid sighed as the destroyers walked away, a dark cloud hanging over them. She felt bad about dampening her enthusiasm like that, but an ouija board? She glanced back at the LPD tied to the pier, and shuddered. No, that was a bad idea. New York was probably even more haunted than-

The carrier's eyes widened as a terrible thought occurred to her. Grabbing her cell phone, she quickly dialed a number and put it up to her ear. "C'mon, Hornet, pick up..." she pleaded.

~o~

Several blocks away, Hornet wasn't paying attention to her ringing phone. Something was... calling her. And not the phone. Standing, in something of a daze, she exited her room and wandered down the corridor. As she walked, voices began to drift towards her, childish, excited voices.

Finally, she came to a stop, the haze cleared, and she beheld Bagley, Blue, Helm, and Mugford, squabbling over an ouija board.

"No, no, it goes this way!" Helm insisted. "I can feel it!"

"No, it's this way!" Bagley cried, tugging her hand.

Hornet eyed the paper that the destroyers had written prior results on. "I AM CO", it said. Grinning at the clamoring voices that suddenly piped up at the sight, Hornet carefully squatted and interjected her finger, pointing to M. "Right, there, I think."

Naturally, the marker shifted to M, Mugford and Blue looking smug. "And you were both wrong," the former stated smugly, before glancing her way. "Thanks for the hel-" And then she froze upon meeting the smiling face of Hornet.

"Hi, girls," she said sweetly.

"Uh, h-hi, Hornet," Mugford stammered, her sisters noticing and paling themselves. "W-What are you-"

"You called me, and I'm here," the carrier replied. Suddenly, black ghosts sprang to life behind here. "Same for these guys. In fact, they wanted to tell you _exactly_ how much they appreciate being called from their rest."

"W-We're sorry!" Bagley squeaked.

"Tell that to them."

The ghosts descended, the destroyers screamed, and then... blessed silence.

"Ah, that's better," Hornet sighed as she stood. A thought came to her, and she grimaced. "Gonna need to replenish my chocolate stores after this..."


	2. Rule 2009

**Rule 2009: Do not try to use the summoning ritual to revive dead celebrities, it only works for ships.**

 **AN: I now have a TvTropes page. Show it some love, everyone!**

"Alright," a voice intoned in the dark room far from the sea. "Do we have all the materials?"

"Full box set, check!" a hooded figure cheerfully answered, holding up a pack of DVDs.

"Yellow jumpsuit, check," another hooded figure softly added, the article of clothing held in her hands.

"Snippet of Chuck Norris' beard, check," a third hooded figure answered, the shit-eating grin on her face audible.

"And I have the pork and pig bones," the first voice said. "Alright, we may begin."

Shuffling forward, the hooded figures stacked the materials inside an odd summoning circle. At first glance, said summoning circle was just another shipgirl summoning circle, but a closer look would have yielded key, albeit incomprehensible, differences. Standing around the circle, the strange figures slid into stances, and began their kata, flowing from kick to punch and back again. The circle glowed as the sparred with invisible opponents, the glow growing greater and greater-!

And then it faded.

"Oh, come on!" one of the hooded figures snapped, stamping her foot.

"Not enough materials, perhaps?" another one mused.

"We'll give it another try," another said. Once again they resumed their katas; once again the circle began to glow.

This time, though, it actually produced something.

This "something" was humanoid, red-skinned, with goat hooves and goat fur and a pair of curling ram's horns and a tail lashing in agitation. No pitchfork; instead, he brandished glasses, a suit jacket over a white shirt, and a pen and pad of paper.

"Right, that's enough of that," the devil stated, jabbing a pen at one of the hooded figures. "The Regent of Hell does _not_ appreciate your attempts to call him away from his responsibilities. And neither does the rest of the Hellish Bureaucracy." Sniffing the air, the devil glanced back at the pile of material still piled under him. His face suddenly lighting up in a sunny grin, he leaned down, grabbed the yellow jumpsuit, and said, "Do you mind if I take this as your fine? He's been looking for one ever since he arrived and none of the tailors can quite match it."

"Er, sure," one of the gathered shipgirls stated.

"Splendid! Well, just don't try this again, and everything will be fine." He jerked, as if remembering something. "Oh, and burn that ritual when you're done, will you?" And then, in a crack and sudden stench of sulfur, he was gone.

For a moment, no one move, and then Furutaka threw her hood off. "So, wait, did I hear that right? Bruce Lee is in Hell and is... regent?"

"A regent is... basically a royal benchwarmer in case the heir is too young," Kirishima answered as she swept her hood off. "Logically, this means Bruce Lee killed whoever rules Hell and is now ruling it himself while the heir grows up."

Ikazuchi and Shokaku followed suit, their eyes stars. "So Bruce Lee is the king of Hell?" Ikazuchi confirmed. "That's so cool!" Then she sobered up. "Aw. That means we can't summon Audrey Hepburn. Akatsuki's gonna be sad..."

"Yeah, if summoning dead celebrities gets the attention of angels or devils, I think we're better off not trying," Furutaka agreed. "Kirishima, do you-?"

"I'll handle," Shokaku sighed, holding out her hand. Kirishima handed the summoning formula over, and then the carrier tossed it in her mouth and swallowed. Deep within her, several drop tanks appeared in her magazines. "There, done. Now, what should we do with the materials?"

"I," Ikazuchi said imperiously, plucking the box set out of the pile. "Need to show my sisters and Tenryuu Bruce Lee's awesomeness."

"I'll get the pork to the mess," Furutaka stated, eyeing the meat. "If it hasn't already gone bad, at least."

"I'll take the beard," Kirishima decided. "Washington will find someone who is interested."

~o~

"Pirate!" Kidd heard from behind her. "Stand and face your better!"

Grinning, Kidd spun around, seeing Walker in... a cowboy outfit and some sort of beard? "And who are ye, to be challengin' the great pirate Kidd?" she drawled.

Suddenly, four sailors popped up behind Walker, singing "A-CHUCK-A NORRIIIIIIIIS!" before vanishing.

"Ah, I see," Kidd nodded. "Ye be an officer of the law, here to apprehend me. Well, I'll BE RESISTIN' WITH ALL ME MIGHT!"

As shouted, Kidd drew her cutlass and dived at Walker. The Fletcher wasn't perturbed; instead, she spun and lashed out with a spinning kick that sent Kidd smash into the nearest wall. She didn't move. Eyes shining, Walker glanced down on the beard on her face and spoke in a reverential tone, "I will never remove you..."


	3. Rule 2011

**Rule 2011. No more ship girl-hosted pizza parties in the administrative building.  
**  
Kongo was a happy battleship as she stepped out of the shower, her only clothing a hand towel hanging from her neck. She and Teitoku had had a wonderful night, uninterrupted by cameras or any sort of shipgirl shenanigans, occupied as they were by that hastily-organized pizza party. Padding over to where her lover still slept, she leaned over and blew softly into his ear. "It's time to wake up, Tei~to~ku~..."

Admiral Goto's only response was to groan and roll over.

Sighing good-naturedly, Kongo pulled the sheets up over him and walked away to get dressed and fix her hair. That done, she left their shared quarters and made her way to the administration building. Best to get some coffee or tea started for when he did start the day's work. Oh, and arrange a breakfast, because she knew her Admiral. Sleeping late as he was, he was certain to skip breakfast in his rush to get the day started.

The battleship was mulling what to order when she reached the building and absentmindedly opened the door. Then all distraction was gone as she saw what was inside.

"What the desu?!" she yelped, staring into the lobby - and more importantly, the empty pizza boxes, grease stains, and unconscious sailors and shipgirls scattered everywhere. And... were those beer cans?!

Carefully stepping into the lobby, she picked up one of the cans on the ground, proudly labelled Suntory, and gave it a sniff, immediately recoiling. "Ugh, who decided canning deer piss was a good idea?" she muttered, crumpling the can in her hand and making to toss it in the nearest trash can. That action was aborted when she saw that it was stuffed to overflowing with cups, cans, napkins, boxes, and Uzuki, the only visible part her legs.

"What the desu happened here last night?" Kongo wondered as she picked her way through the halls, finding variations on the same devastation in each one. Some rooms were mercifully spared, mostly because they were mission-critical, locked, and the shipgirls had been trained Pavlov-style to treat them with respect.

From the human pileup outside the door to Admiral Goto's office, that room wasn't one of them.

Carefully moving the unconscious sailors and shipgirls - she was going to have _words_ with whoever either invited all the destroyers or brought the beer - she tried the door. Locked. Reaching up, she gave it three raps, and was gratified to hear the lock come undone.

"Good morning!" Kongo announced as the door started to open. "Who am I-"

*THWACK!*

Several seconds later, Kongo opened her eyes to find a splitting headache and Ooyodo carrying a splintered cricket bat and fussing over her.

"Oh, what do I do, what do I do, I'm sure she's got a concussion and won't remember this and that's great but she also won't remember her Admiral and that's bad oh God what's Admiral Goto gonna-"

"Ooyodo!" Kongo barked with all the authority she could muster. "Control yourself!"

At those words, the cruiser flinched, froze, and then collected herself, heaving out a deep sigh. "Thank you, Kongo," she said, adjusting her glasses. "It's been a rough night."

Standing, Kongo eyed the dark bags under Ooyodo's eyes, the skin grey with exhaustion, and the simple fact that she looked about ready to collapse.

"What happened here, Ooyodo?" she asked. "I heard there was going to be a pizza party, but I never expected..." She waved vaguely about the devastated corridor. "This."

"I don't even know..." Ooyodo groaned, slumping against a wall. "I was wrapping up the last of my work when these... these _hooligans_ all streamed in. It was all I could do to barricade the door and keep them out of Admiral Goto's office."

Sadly, that made too much sense to ignore. "Alright, let's go see if anyone's awake now." Noting Ooyodo briefly nodding off, Kongo added another order. "Correction: _I'll_ go see if anyone's awake. _You_ take the day off and go get some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am..." Ooyodo yawned.

~o~

It took a good ten minutes of searching, and confirming that damn near _every single one_ of Yokosuka's shipgirls was involved in this mess (Her. The organizer. Her fist. Hard as she could.), she finally found one that was actually waking up: namely, a hungover and very topless Nachi.

"Oi, Nachi, wakey wakey," Kongo stated, giving the heavy cruiser a kick in the ribs to jumpstart the waking process.

Groaning, the heavy cruiser sat up, blinked the last bits of sleep from her eyes - and promptly yelped and covered her chest. "W-Where'd my top go?!" she wailed.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Kongo deadpanned. "This is quite the mess, and-"

"Wait!" Nachi shouted, holding up her hand. "Okay... this is about the pizza party, right?" Kongo nodded. "Ah, shit, yeah, this got kind of out of hand, didn't it?"

Kongo raised an eyebrow, Fumizuki sliding out of an overhead light fixture and slamming onto the floor answering that far better than any words could.

"Right, stupid question..." the heavy cruiser muttered. "Alright, from what I remember, this all _really_ got out of hand when Mamiya and Washington got into an argument over pizza styles and toppings..."

~o~

 _"PINEAPPLE?!" Mamiya bellowed in outrage. "You put PINEAPPLE on your pizza?!"_

 _"I don't want to hear it, Miss 'I-Put-Scallops-Mayonnaise-and-Honey-On-My-Pizzas!" Washington fired back._

 _"And you heathens have the gall to call deep-dish_ pizza! _It's not pizza, it's a pizza-flavored casserole!"_

 _All around the two, shipgirls and sailors alike were slowly backing away. They outright broke and ran when Washington grabbed Mamiya by the face and slammed her into one of the open pizzas._

 _"LOOK AT THIS SHIT!" Washington roared. "SEE THE AVOCADO! SEE THE SHRIMP! THIS IS HERESY OF THE HIGHEST ORDER!"_

~o~

"Okay, that is _not_ what happened," Mamiya stated as she filled out an icepack for her head. "Yes, we got into a discussion about the merits, or lack there of, of certain pizza toppings. And yes, it got a little heated. But we talked it out like civilized adults. Also? Anchovies suck as a topping, just want to point that out."

"Then why do you have mayo sauce all over your face?" Kongo pointed out.

Mamiya flushed red. "Okay, Washington may have slammed a pizza in my face when I inadvertently insulted chicken pesto as a pizza combination, but everyone was three sheets to the wind by that point and throwing things around anyway, so I don't see how that caused everything to go bad." The food ship's face twisted up into an ugly scowl. "Now, if you _really_ want to know how this went bad..."

~o~

 _Mamiya carefully placed the last six-stack of pizzas, and glanced around at the party that was just getting into full swing. Destroyers were giggling and playing games all over the place, enjoying unlimited pizza and soda (though she wasn't_ entirely _sure that last was a good idea); everyone else, sailors and shipgirls alike, were just enjoying the food and conversation._

 _And then the doors were thrown open and the conversation just_ died _._

 _"Hey," Ensign Mishima, one of the assumed latecomers, said, a smug grin on his face. "I brought some friends, hope you don't mind."_

 _The food ship glanced behind the sailor and paled at the beer-carrying crowd behind him. It even included a few shipgirls they had pointedly_ not _invited, like a clearly drunk Junyo. Opening her mouth to shout them off-_

 _"Sure, you can join us!" she heard a voice call out behind her. "But, uh, there are kind of a lot of you guys."_

 _"Why don't we head over to the administration building?" Mamiya's head whirled back to ensign Mishima, eyes wide. "Nobody's ever there this time of night."_

 _A lusty cheer rose up from the crowd behind her, mostly young destroyer voices. Oh, Lord, what was happening?!_

~o~

"Okay, that is _not_ what happened," Ensign Mishima complained, before groaning and rubbing his temples. "Ow. Anyway, yeah, I showed up with a few extra buddies. A _few_. And yes, I made the suggestion to move to the administrative building, but that's because the destroyers were completely out of control! I thought the extra space would help."

"And all these other people...?" Kongo trailed off, indicating yet another totalled room.

"Oh, they were all gatecrashers," Ensign Mishima explained. "In hindsight, moving to the administrative building was a bad idea, because it told _everyone_ that there was a big-ass part happening. But things didn't _really_ get out of hand until Nachi left and brought back a whole ton of beer. And I'm being literal here."

Nodding, Kongo left Ensign Mishima to his hangover, and mulled over the problem. Clearly, none of the stories she'd gotten were completely true, at least when it came to the cause of the pizza party going completely out of control. The _other_ parts, she could believe. Perhaps she would not get the complete answer, but even a partial one would be great.

Then something caught her eye: a shipgirl who _wasn't_ staggering about hungover or exhausted. In fact, Shimakaze was completely unruffled, like she'd gotten out of bed like a normal person.

"Ah, Shimakaze!" Kongo called in greeting. "I see you decided not to attend the pizza party?"

"Meh. Saw how much soda was being passed around and left," the destroyer replied, shuddering. "I get weird when I have too much sugar, and that's a pretty universal trait among destroyers."

Kongo eyed Desdiv 12 as they walked past, groaning and rubbing their heads. "I see," Kongo said. "And if almost every destroyer in Yokosuka were to overdo it on sugar?"

"Honestly?" Shimakaze drawled, glancing around the corridor. "If that's what happened, I'm amazed the building is still standing."


	4. Rule 2013

**Rule 2013. Never, in a million years, let Gatling ask the Science! girls for weapons.  
**  
USS Gatling, Fletcher-class destroyer, took a deep breath and then knocked on the scorched, battered steel door that led to the lab South Dakota and Phoenix had commandeered. She'd tried to resist, she really had, but the call had been too strong, and the armaments fairies had been apologetic but unhelpful. So, now she turned to the mad scientists, and simply hoped they wouldn't change her _too_ much in the process. Even if becoming an Abomination of Science sounded way more appealing than it probably should have.

The door swung open with an ominous creak, and a grease-covered South Dakota poked her head. "... Need to oil the damn thing..." she muttered, balefully eyeing the door before turning a sunny grin on Gatling. "Hey, uh... Gatling, right? What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

Behind South Dakota, there was a sudden whoosh of flame, followed by loud yelping in Phoenix's voice.

"Don't worry about that," the battleship said, her smile becoming a bit brittle.

"Right... so, I wanted to change my light AA outfit, and the fairies can't do it," Gatling explained. "Something about how they didn't have the parts on hand?"

 _That_ got South Dakota's attention. For most things, the equipment fairies could handle whatever minor upgrades shipgirls requested, and a change to their light AA outfit definitely counted. "What were asking them to do?"

"I wanted gatling guns!" Gatling answered, eyes sparkling. "Still do! Can you give me gatling guns?"

"Uh... maybe?" South Dakota said. "I'm not sure we even have-"

"I've been sitting on four AK-630s for a few months now," Phoenix, scorched and smoking, cut in. "Amazing what you can get from the Russians with the right mix of food and video games."

"And then we can put together a few mounts... Oh, even better, a couple of Roys!" South Dakota breathed in realization. "That gun's exhaust operated, so that cuts down on the electrical requirements, though we'll still need to beef up her electrical generation... the topweight should be fine, even with the Vympel fire-control... Yes, this should work..."

The battleship promptly devolved into dark chuckles, her eyes wild, and Phoenix quickly herded Gatling out the door.

"Why don't you check back in a couple of days," the cruiser said. "Dakota'll probably have figured out the installation by then."

"Okay..." Gatling replied a little dubiously.

~o~

Dortch sighed explosively for the third time in fifteen minutes, and now Langley - the Independence-class light carrier, thank you very much, she did not sign books, and would vehemently deny even reading them if you asked - couldn't take it anymore. "What's up with you?" she asked her dedicated planeguard.

"It's Gatling," Dortch sighed again. "She's had this shit-eating grin on her face for days, it's beginning to worry me. Also, all her light AA guns are gone. If we have to fend off an air attack..."

Glancing over to the destroyer in question, Langley was surprised to see that yes, Gatling's rigging was alarming bare of the familiar Bofors and Oerlikon barrels. "That is worrying," she remarked.

"Yeah, no kidding," Dortch spat. "I mean, I don't give a fuck about the Oerlikons, because the only one she's endangering there is herself, but the Bofors-" The destroyer cut her rant short at the sudden look on Langley's face. "Aw, fiddlesticks, we've got an air attack incoming, don't we."

"Yes," the light carrier sighed. "Yes we do."

Around them, the task group was bursting into frantic activity, the carriers vectoring their aloft CAP and launching additional fighters, the escorts unlimbering their guns. Sadly, as usual, there were too many Abyssals to be held at arm's length. Many were downed by the fighters, and many ate shrapnel to the face courtesy of the fleet's AA guns, but some few still came charging on.

Even in this chaos, Dortch was still able to see Gatling's face light up, and be mystified when she placed her hands at her hips. "My time to shine!" the destroyer crowed. She yanked, up and out, pulling two small turrets out of her hull.

They were the oddest turrets Dortch had ever seen: dome-shaped, but studded with weird angles and edges, with two short, stubby guns stacked on top of each other in a single sleeve casing. The destroyer had just barely begun to speculate on their use when Gatling pulled her triggers.

And then the sky was bullets.

Well, not really, but with four six-barrel rotary guns firing at full speed it sure seemed like it. Spent shell cases kicked up water and the Abyssal attack fairly _melted_ as Gatling cackled in glee over the sound of tearing bullets. It was... honestly rather terrifying.

"I bet those two madwomen designed this..." Dortch groused.


	5. Rule 2015

**Rule 2015: Despite the mission reports, any plan that begins with giving the Canadians a hockey stick and puck, and ending with telling them that the goal is behind the Abyssal is banned.  
**  
"There are _how many_ Abyssals in front of us?" Philadelphia yelped.

"Over a hundred," Sangamon repeated as she retrieved her planes falcon-style. "Including six battleships. And we have..."

"Four escort carriers, three light cruisers, twelve destroyers, eight destroyer escorts, nine frigates, and two corvettes," Ontario promptly rattled off, counting on her fingers. "Definitely not enough to tackle an Abyssal force that size."

"Isn't there _anyone_ we could contact to tackle these guys instead of us?" Philadelphia pleaded.

"Well, the Atlantic Fleet is on a wild goose chase after a Re-class that showed up near Bermuda," Santee answered as she steamed up to them. "And according to them, the Frogs are busy smacking down an incursion to the Falklands with the Argies, Force H is on a Med deployment, and the rest of the Brits and the Germans are having... issues in the North Sea."

~o~

"Just _die already!"_ Bismarck, Nelson, and Duke of York all howled as they emptied another salvo into the eldritch, betentacled stone castle that had just... shown up floating over the North Sea. It had paused, seemed to scent the air, and then headed straight for Scotland. And much like the last few times they'd hit the damn thing, it continued on undaunted.

Of course, this would all be easier if they had all hands on deck, but Scharnhorst had refused, saying "I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going!" before locking herself in her room. Most of the combined Anglo-German forces had followed suit, leaving the response force rather short of heavy gunpower.

"Argh, this is going to take forever!" Duke of York growled.

~o~

"Strike fighters have been scrambled from Britain and France, but it's going to take time and a lot of tanking for them to get here," Santee continued. "Also, I doubt they're going to be able to completely destroy over 100 Abyssals."

"And Britain needs this convoy," Philadelphia finished, throwing up her hands. "Great! So we either turn back and let Britain starve, or die gloriously and let Britain starve, is that it?"

"No," Ontario cut in, her glasses shining as she pushed them up. "I have a plan. Call the frigates over."

The call was made, the frigates came up, and Ontario pulled nine hockey sticks and a puck out of her hold. Immediately, the young shipgirls' eyes all lit up.

"Alright, girls," Ontario explained as she handed out the sticks. "The game is simple. I've contacted the British to set up a goal at The Lizard; whoever gets the puck in wins a week's worth of ice cream. How does that sound?"

"YAAAAAAAY!" the frigates cheered, waving their new sticks.

"Now..." Pulling her arm back, Ontario hurled the puck towards the distant Abyssal force as hard as she could. "Go!"

The frigates charged off at flank speed, leaning in on their sticks. And with the Americans just standing there in slack-jawed amazement, Ontario took it upon herself to wave the convoy forward.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

"Are you crazy?!" Philadelphia demanded. "Sending a bunch of frigates against those Abyssals is-!"

"Probably overkill, now that they've got their hockey on."

Ontario nodded at Savannah, while Philadelphia pressed on. "What does that have to do with-"

"Look, sis," Savannah interrupted. "Just because the Flyers have been shit for a decade-"

"You take that back!"

"Doesn't mean you can assume everyone is as apathetic about hockey as Philadelphians. Look, they're Canadians. Hockey is in their blood, and it's the only time a Canadian truly becomes deadly."

Philadelphia blinked once, twice. "Wait, what do you call their service in the World Wars, then?!"

"Mercy," Ontario stated.

~o~

A couple hours later, the convoy and its escorts passed through the Abyssal fleet. Or rather, the broken, bleeding, groaning, insensate remains of said Abyssal fleet.

"And a bunch of frigates did this. With hockey sticks," Sangamon confirmed, looking mildly freaked out.

"Yup," Ontario answered, staring off into the distance. "Oh, look, here comes one now!"

Indeed, frigate Charlottetown was steaming up to them as fast as her VTE engines could push her. The accompanying Americans could also see that she had an impressive black eye and two missing front teeth, not to mention ripped-up clothes, which relaxed them a bit. At least the crazy escort had taken some damage!

"Oh my, Charlottetown," Ontario cooed as the frigate skidded to a halt in front of the escort forces. "What happened to you?"

"Montreal punched me in the eye!" the frigate cheerfully responded. "And then Lanark hit me in the mouth with her stick! But joke's on them, 'cause I've got the puck in, and..." The frigate rummaged in her pockets for a few seconds before pulling out her phone. "I got video proof!"

As Ontario descended into 35 Centi-Nagamons, cooing and hugging and nuzzling her cheek against the frigate's, the gathered Americans could only watch in horror.

"So... they blew through all those Abyssals... _unscathed?!"_ Santee said, her voice an octave higher than normal.

Savannah, Sangamon, and Philadelphia could only nod.

"Remind me never to call Canada 'America's hat' again..."


	6. Rule 2020

**Rule 2020. It has come to our attention that some of you girls might need glasses. Those who don't already use glasses are required to report to medical for an eye evaluation.**

"TEI~TO~KU~!"

As usual, Admiral Goto scooted his seat out of the path of his door to let Kongo sail harmlessly past him.

*WHAM!*

Unfortunately, this time, Kongo was decidedly off the mark, as instead of slamming into the wall she slammed into him, grabbing his head in the process and carrying it down to the hard wood floor.

For a few seconds, they both just laid their in a heap, before Kongo raised herself up. "Ow..." she groaned, rubbing her head. "Ah! Teitoku, are you alright?!"

"Mrghl..." Admiral Goto mumbled, his eyes swirling in their sockets.

At this moment, Ooyodo opened the door, Kiso poking her head in from behind. "Admiral, I'm here with your ten o- ah! Kongo, what did you do?!"

"I don't know!" the battleship wailed, clutching at her buns. "I did my usual thing but my aim was off and I hit Teitoku and now his eyes are all swirly!"

"Move, let me get a look at him," the secretary ship snapped. Carefully, gingerly, she lifted Admiral Goto's head and looked into his eyes. "Yup," she said, lowering his head again. "Concussion."

"Noooooo!" Kongo wailed, still clutching at her buns. "I don't want Teitoku to forget meeeeee!"

"Don't worry," Kiso cut in. "Speaking from experience, concussion symptoms don't last forever."

The light cruiser promptly flinched back from a wild-eyed Kongo grabbing her. "How long?! How long do they take to fade?!"

Kiso blinked, looking confused. "How long do what take to fade?"

"Noooooooo!"

"If you two are quite done," Ooyodo snapped. "I'll take the Admiral to the infirmary, get him patched up. Kongo, you'll be in charge of nursing him, and for God's sake, be more careful in the future! Kiso, I'm afraid we're going to have to reschedule."

"S'okay," Kiso said dismissively. "It can wait. I'm gonna go antagonize Tenryuu in the meantime. See ya!"

~o~

Kongo squinted at the newspaper in her hands. Were they making the print smaller again? She glanced up at the headline again. That, at least, she could read, even if it was annoyingly blurry. The printers _definitely_ needed to do a better job.

Goto clearing his throat caught her attention, and she glanced over the top of the paper, finding him looking almost... nervous? It was a bit hard to tell. "Yes?" she asked.

"Um, honey, I don't want to make you mad, but..." Taking a deep breath, Goto plowed on. "Do you need reading glasses?"

Kongo immediately bristled at the implications. How dare he "say that my eyesight is like a 108-year-old grandma's?!"

She blinked. Oh dear, had she said that out loud? Given how shellshocked her Teitoku looked, probably.

"Ahem," she coughed, embarrassed. "I mean, don't worry about that, Teitoku. My eyesight is _fine_."

~o~

"Where is that heavy cruiser?" Kongo wondered as she scanned over one of the outdoor plazas, eyes squinted in concentration, _not_ poor eyesight.

Her target was Furutaka, ever since she'd realized that something was wrong with her eyes. She could see into the distance just fine, her gunnery practice had proven that. But up close, things were getting increasingly blurry. Why Furutaka? Because of the Japanese shipgirls with eye issues, she was the only one who'd elected to have an eye replaced. Tenryuu and Kiso stuck with those damn eyepatches of theirs; how they managed the lack of depth perception was beyond her.

Another scan didn't turn up any sign of the cruiser in the distance, but she did spot a Kako-shaped blur walking by much closer, which was the next best thing. "Hey, Kako!" she called out, waving. "Can I talk to you?"

The figure paused, which Kongo took as permission to begin jogging up to her. Success! When she was close enough, the battleship said, "Oh man, Kako, you're a godsend, seriously. Do you know where Furutaka is? I need to talk to her."

"Well, considering I _am_ Furutaka, I think you can just tell me," the heavy cruiser drawled sardonically.

Kongo froze as the realization hit her, and then slumped to the ground. "So it's true..." she muttered despondently. "I am Granny Kongo... I wonder where I could find a cane and walking chair..."

Furutaka, meanwhile, was feeling decidedly uncomfortable about all this, so she defaulted back to something she hadn't tapped into since those early days when she'd been the only experienced heavy cruiser around.

"Stand up, you maggot!" she barked. "Are you a battleship, or a tugboat that got into Yuubari's workshop?"

"Yes ma'am!" Kongo instinctively yelped, just as instinctively standing and saluting. "Eh? What?"

The heavy cruiser nodded. "Alright, now that I have your attention, let me take a stab at the problem. Vision issues?" Kongo nodded. "Farsightedness? Distant things are clear, close blurry?" More nods. "Well, first of all, you need to schedule an appointment to talk to Akashi and the equipment fairies; your optics are in serious need of a realignment. In the meantime..."

Once again, Kongo slumped over in despair at what Furutaka produced: a pair of reading glasses.


	7. Rule 2025

**Rule 2025. Please, don't start "my x is more y than yours" discussions we are still repairing the damage of Bismarck and Enterprise's last one.**

"Hey, girl, we're home!" Enterprise cooed, shifting Yoshino in her arms so she could see their house. The young baby rewarded this action with an adorably happy "Gabah!" as she reached her short arms out. Standing in front of the door, the carrier pressed the doorbell, shifting Yoshino again. "I hope that repair appointment went well..."

Footsteps sounded out, and the door swung open to show Yamato, wearing a pair of glasses. "Welcome back, E!" she chirped, before blinking at the wide-eyed, stupefied look on her lover's face. "Um, E? Honey? You alright?"

"Glasses..." Enterprise managed to get out. Yoshino, meanwhile, seemed to have figured out that something had changed with her momma, and was trying to reach up to her face.

"Ah, these?" Yamato replied, a little self-conscious. She reached out and presented a finger to Yoshino, who immediately grabbed at it. "A temporary measure until enough equipment fairies are freed up to adjust my optics. This is a bit of a fleet-wide problem at present, from what I understand."

"Buhguh... glasses..."

"Yes, E, you already said that," Yamato said, frowning. "Are you alright?"

Wordlessly, Enterprise handed her daughter off to her partner, and then collapsed into a heap on the ground, a dopey grin on her face.

"Oh my..."

~o~

"Sorry I'm late!"

Bismarck glanced up from the paper she was reading, shooting her best friend a kind smile. "Not a... problem..."

Hood was wearing glasses. _Glasses_. Very cute, petite glass- no! Bismarck frantically shook her head. This was her best friend, she wasn't a lesbian, she had a boyfriend, she wasn't a lesbian, there were so many reasons why she shouldn't follow her first instincts to lead Hood to the nearest hotel! Most notably that she wasn't a lesbian!

Taking several deep breaths in a breathing exercise she'd learned from Gneisenau, she opened her eyes again. Fuck. Hood was _still_ an image of loveliness. What was it about glasses that made such a drastic change?!

"Uh, Bismarck?" Hood queried. "Are you alright?"

"Y-Yes!" Bismarck yelped, Hood's lovely, melodic- The battleship smacked her temple, knocking the offending thought away. "Why wouldn't I be alright with being with my breast friend?!" What she'd just said caught up to her, and she tried to melt into her chair, bypassing red entirely.

On the plus side, Hood seemed more bemused than anything. "I think you should check with your boyfriend before asking for a threesome," she said.

Scratch that, it wasn't a plus at all, was Bismarck's last thought before images of said threesome flooded her brain and shut down all other autonomous functions.

~o~

"Watcha looking at?"

"A picture of Yamato with glasses on the shipgirl Tumblr," Jintsuu answered distractedly. "Or rather, the comments section. There's a big, long, very fiery comment chain going on, but it all looks like people are jumping on a bandwagon. I want to find the front of that bandwagon."

"And... why are you doing that?" Sendai wondered.

"Because it's a massively heated debate that's spawning an artwork war and most of the commenters are American or European shipgirls," Jintsuu answered. "I want to figure this out before the blowup extends into the real world and drags Honolulu in."

"Good luck with that?" Naka offered.

It didn't take long for Jintsuu to find what she was looking for, and she immediately recoiled. "I have found the front of the bandwagon, and it is _enormous."  
_  
Naka and Sendai exchanged glances. "How big?" the former asked.

Her face serious as a heart attack, Jintsuu stated, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Hatsuharu wrote it."

Both her sisters winced. The destroyer had a reputation for being... long-winded, to say the least. "So? What's it say?" Sendai asked.

"Well, to summarize, it's Bismarck arguing that Hood looks better," Jintsuu said. "And that set Enterprise off, and now the two are in a knock-down internet brawl."

"Uh, not just an internet brawl."

Sendai and Jintsuu sent questioning glances towards Naka, who was grimacing mightily as she looked over her Twitter feed.

"Yeah, apparently Enterprise flew herself to Germany to, and I quote, 'Settle this like true ships.' They're _still_ going at it."

~o~

Enterprise nearly fell as she stepped back from the punch Bismarck threw at her. She was exhausted; Bismarck even more so, and her desperation was only compounding the problem. The sloppy, wobbly charge she was attempting was proof.

Ignoring her own screaming muscles, she sidestepped said charge, clamping her left arm around Bismarck's neck. Ducking her head under Bismarck's left shoulder, she hefted the battleship into the air, and clamped onto her thighs. It _hurt_ ; Bismarck was heavier than her, the battleship's bony shoulders were digging into hers, and her engines weren't used to moving such a mass. But she persevered, bending her knees and then jumping into the air.

"Let go of me!" Bismarck shouted.

"Admit Yamato's hotter!" Enterprise fired back.

"Never!"

The two reached the apex of the jump, and then soared down before slamming into the concrete with Bismarck on the bottom, shattering it with her face for several hundred yards around. Rolling off the battleship, Enterprise just laid on her back, catching her breath and praying that Bismarck didn't stand up.

She didn't.

"Hahahaha... yes! Suck it!" Enterprise whooped, pumping her fist in the air. "Yamato wins, you stupid-!"

The carrier cut herself off as Admiral Hartmann suddenly loomed over her, looking for all the world like Thor in a bad mood. Tilting her head - and wincing at the loud protests her neck muscles sent in response - she noted that, apparently, she and Bismarck had been a little overzealous, if the plumes of smoke rising everywhere were any indication.

"Uh, oops?" she tried.


	8. Rule 2028

**Rule 2028. Clickbait websites are hereby prohibited as weapons against the Abyssals.**

Iowa yawned as she padded through the Central Princess' Hawaiian palace. With the Installation Abyssal busy trying to negotiate with the American diplomatic team, the battleship had been left somewhat at wit's end for what to do during the day. The palace staff did their best, but somehow she'd become bored with sex, something she'd never thought she'd say.

The sound of fast-padding feet behind her prompted her to stop and turn her head around, seeing that head butler Ru-class running up to her. "Yo!" she greeted. "Where's the fire?"

[Ah, thank goodness I found you, Miss Iowa,] the butler said, sounding utterly genuine. [The fire, as you say, is related to the connection we now have with the Internet.]

Iowa frowned. Part of the diplomatic process had been to install an internet connection, partly as a show of good will, partly to reconnect the surviving humans on Hawaii, and partly for a back door to use malware on. And... "I thought the installation went fine."

[Yes, the installation isn't a problem,] the butler answered. [Everyone has access to it now. And therein lies the problem.]

"... Did they find the porn?" Iowa asked after a few seconds. "Because I told the installation guys to not tell them about Bing, and-"

[Thankfully, while an issue, the porn is a manageable one,] the butler answered. [Though I wish I knew less than I did about the staff's various fetishes. No, the issue is other sites.] The Ru-class blushed slightly. [I confess, the site 'Wikipedia' has consumed much of my free time. Though I am still unsure how I went from reading an article on your own class to breast-shaped hills.]

"That's just what Wiki does," Iowa replied, before sighing and slapping her hand to her face. "Fucking hell, they've found the browser narcotics. Which ones?"

[Tumblr, Buzzfeed, TvTropes, Pixiv, several webcomics...]

"Right, I'm just gonna assume all of them." Iowa sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she mulled the problem over. "You're gonna have to break out the big stick. Break the clickbait cycle, and then pound good browsing habits into them. That's all I can suggest."

[I feared as much,] the butler sighed. [Well, thank you anyway, Iowa.]

The suited Abyssal turned and left, only the barest hint of despondency leaking from her figure. For all that Iowa wanted to help, though, there really wasn't a cure for the Internet. It could only be managed.

...

Wait a minute.

"Hey, wait!" Iowa called out. "I have an idea!"

~o~

"I heard there was an attack?" the Director confirmed as she swept into the communications room of her base.

[Yes, though a very odd one,] the Supply Depot Princess she'd assigned to cybersecurity stated. [The only point seems to have been to connect our intranet with something. Ah, wait, never mind, there's also a spam feature.]

"A spam program and an outside connection?" the Director wondered, before suddenly paling dramatically. "Shut down the spam program! Now!"

[On it!] the Supply Depot Princess barked, tapping out several commands in rapid succession. [I think... yes, it's gone. Everyone got a five-second message, but no more.] Frowning, she leaned back and looked up at her creator. [Why the urgency, though?]

"Check that outside connection," the Director shakily responded. "That'll tell you everything you need to know. I just hope we caught the messages in time; if so, that gives us a chance to run damage control."

Frowning, the Supply Depot Princess pulled up the coding for said outside connection. It didn't take her long to puzzle out what it was supposed to do.

[So, wait, it connects our intranet to the traitorous Central Princess' intranet... and then to the human Internet. I fail to see the-" She paused, eyes widening. [Oh. _Oh._ Yes, that would be crippling especially if _everyone_ knew the human Internet was available. Good catch, Director; I'll get that closed as soon as I can.]

"See that you do," the Director growled. "As for me, I'll be figuring out how to blot out that _traitorous_ installation like I should have done months ago."

 **AN: I swear to God, the breast-shaped hill thing is an actual article on Wikipedia.**


	9. Rule 2032

**Rule 2032. Nobody shell the Central Princess. She just declared neutrality for some reason.**

"Alright, everyone!" Kongo announced, happily stowing her reading glasses. She looked over the gathered forces: her three sisters, destroyer divisions 2, 4, 8, and 61, light cruisers Isuzu and Noshiro, and an allied Re-class who had taken the name Revina. "You know the plan: get in, shell the Central Princess for a couple hours, and get out! And that's the best case scenario! I want to emphasize that this is a THUNDER RUN, desu, and we are _not_ staying if we meet heavy resistance." She turned her gaze on a blonde-haired blur that had to be Yuudachi. "Looking at you, Miss 'Nightmare of the Solomons'."

Yuudachi fidgeted under Kongo's gaze, which was shortly followed by every shipgirl present glaring at her. "Why are you all looking at me like that, poi?!" she wailed.

"Do I need to remind you about the I-class you chased right into a Ta-class?" Murasame fired back.

"You're one to talk, poi!" Yuudachi nearly snarled. "Yeah, poi, go chase that I-class, poi, it's not like there are a dozen PT Imps we gotta keep from blowing you up, poi!"

*CLONK!*

"Owie..." both destroyers whined, clutching at rising goose eggs from the torpedo Samidare had dropped on their heads.

"Oops..." the blue-haired Shiratsuyu said with all the sincerity of Richard Nixon trying to sell a car. "My bad!"

"Let's just get going..." Kongo groaned from between her hands, Haruna patting her shoulder in symphathy.

It took them a few days to pick their way across the Pacific, avoiding Abyssal patrols with the help of Revina and a lack of oilers. The former was due to the Abyssal figuring out a way to make the entire task force ping as friendly to the nearby Abyssals, something the Yuubaris had been tearing their hair out trying to replicate; the latter was due to every destroyer being outfitted with... basically a heated Camelbak filled with fuel oil. Everyone involved in designing it had smacked their foreheads for not thinking of it before.

Regardless, all of this ensured that, several days later, they were creeping up on Oahu and hadn't been spotted.

[Alright,] Revina stated, her eyes closed as she looked through her scout planes. [I've got eyes on the Installation. Sending you the range data now.]

Nodding, Kongo and her sisters began adjusting their gun elevation as the data flowed in, their fairies loading up Type 3 bombardment shells. Beside them, Revina's tail was doing the same. Finally, Kongo judged her guns properly aimed.

"FIRE!"

Thunder boomed from the battleships' guns, shells arcing away towards the island. Fairies scrambled to get the guns loaded again, and thirty seconds later another salvo boomed out. Then another, and another. The bombardment continued for another five minutes before Revina held up her hand.

[Wait! I've got movement in Pearl!] Frowning in concentration, she said, [Definitely a battleship...] Suddenly her eyes shot open, shark-toothed mouth hanging wide open. [It's Iowa?! What's Iowa doing there?!]

"What?!" Kongo yelped. "Cease fire, cease fire! Revina, what's she doing?"

[She's steaming right towards us.] The Re-class audibly gulped. [Uh, she looks really pissed off. And she's not wearing her usual outfit, just a bathrobe. Dunno if that's relevant or not.] She turned a pleading gaze on Kongo. [Can we run? I'd really like to run right now.]

"She's faster than us. We'd just die tired," Kongo sighed. "We'll wait. Hopefully she can be talked down."

Ten minutes later, nobody really believed that anymore. Iowa was thundering up to them at overload speed, and was clearly at light load given that Revina had fearfully clocked her at 34 knots. Still, Kongo, a look of determination on her face, steamed up to the front of the formation. "Iowa!" she called out. "I'm sorry for what we did, but-"

*POW!*

All eyes in the task force watched Kongo as she sailed over their heads and then slammed into the water, then back to Iowa, who was hunched over and panting heavily.

"You bitches..." she said in between breaths. "Interrupted... my sexy times..." Taking a deep breath, she finished with a bellowed, "AND THEY'RE NEUTRAL, YOU SLANT-EYED MORONS! DIDN'T YOU GET THE MEMO?!"

"Raaaaaaugh!"

Several of the Japanese girls groaned as Yuudachi and Murasame broke from the formation and charged at Iowa, guns and torpedoes raised. Kirishima sighed and pulled out her wallet, slapping several 10,000-yen notes into a smiling Haruna's outstretched hand. And as the two destroyers got close, Iowa stepped forward, reared back her right leg, and in an almighty punt sent both destroyers flying - and then right into Kongo as she was pulling herself to her feet.

"ANYONE ELSE?!" she roared.

No one volunteered.


	10. Rule 2034

**Rule 2034. All vans must be registered with security or they will be towed. We don't want another repeat of last time.**

Tenryuu balefully eyed the white paneled van that had been parked in front of the destroyer dorms all day. Suspicious. Very suspicious. A glint of something shiny on the ground caught her eye, and she looked down to see several candy wrappers littering the parking lot underneath. _Extremely_ suspicious.

But suspicious wasn't enough to bring the MPs in to tow it away, and it would be weeks and a few warnings before time became a factor. And she really wanted to avoid destroying it in case it was something innocent. At least her destroyers weren't attracted to it; Hibiki was even glaring at it with just as much heat as she felt.

"Ah, I just remembered I need to check something!" she announced. "Go on ahead without me, I'll catch up."

Nodding, the destroyers of Desdiv 6 dashed off, but Tenryuu held Hibiki back with a hand on her shoulder.

"Keep them away from that van, alright?" she whispered.

The white-haired girl nodded gravely. "Da. You have my word."

Once her destroyers were out of sight, Tenryuu moved to investigate. The candy wrappers were generic and no help, and there weren't any markings or vanity plates on the vehicle. Looking in the windows showed little in the way of personal decorations, though it did confirm that this was a very new van. Even lifting it up and checking the undercarriage revealed nothing, though she hadn't really expected it to.

There was no choice. She'd have to get into the back.

Naturally, the doors were locked, but that was no obstacle for the light cruiser. She simply dug the lock out of the doors with her bare hands and swung them open.

Empty.

Now gritting her teeth in frustration, she pulled up the floor panels. Nothing. She tore open the walls. Nothing. She-

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

Tenryuu paused, her fist full of sheet steel, and glanced out the new hole she'd made in the van to see a sailor in a rumpled uniform - and very unfortunate 70s-style porn 'stache - nearly tearing her hair out at the sight of his vehicle.

"This your van?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Then why'd ya park it right in front of the destroyer dorms, dumbass?" Tenryuu demanded. "I mean, I'm sorry about destroying it when you're not doing anything nefarious..." She eyed his mustache. "I think..."

"Hey! What's wrong with my mustache?!"

"Well... I'm sorry, man, but it kinda makes you look like a paedophile."

"That's it!" the sailor shouted. "You, me, Admiral Goto's office ASAP!"

~o~

"And you couldn't have called the MPs?" Admiral Goto groaned once he'd heard the full story.

"He insisted," Tenryuu stated, pointing to her accuser.

"Er, well, I didn't think of that..." the sailor, named Maeshima Tsuno, sheepishly answered.

"Right..." Goto sighed. "Here's what's going to happen. Tsuno, that van _was_ incredibly suspicious, so I'm not going to have Tenryuu do more than pay for the repairs." He thought of the damage, and made an amendment. "Or replacement, as the case may be. Tenryuu, next time, report a suspicious vehicle. Or find someone with lockpicks. Now get out of here."

"Yes, sir!" both shipgirl and sailor barked.


	11. Rule 2035

**Rule 2035: No forwarding scam emails to the Abyssals. Nigeria now has a GDP measured in the trillions.  
**  
The Supply Depot Princess in charge of the Abyss' intranet generally had an easy job. Front-line Abyssals rarely broke anything, and with the network cut off from any other networks security was greatly simplified. Of course, despite being cut off, sometimes things slipped through, usually stray tweets and bits of malware, and in one memorable case a Japanese prototype AI that had led her on a merry chase before being cornered.

The odd email sitting in her inbox, subjected "REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP", was a bit unusual.

Supply Depot Princess promptly subjected the email to every malware detector she had. They turned up nothing except some sort of worm from a porn site. She shuddered. She'd spent _weeks_ cleaning up the system after the thrice-damned traitorous Central Princess had broken into their system. Clearing the worm was a matter of minutes, and she opened the email, reading over the body.

{REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP FROM HONOURED ABYSSAL

FIRST, I MUST SOLICIT YOUR STRICTEST CONFIDENCE IN THIS TRANSACTION. THIS IS BY VIRTUE OF ITS NATURE AS BEING UTTERLY CONFIDENTIAL AND 'TOP SECRET'. I AM SURE AND HAVE CONFIDENCE OF YOUR ABILITY AND RELIABILITY TO PROSECUTE A TRANSACTION OF THIS GREAT MAGNITUDE INVOLVING A PENDING TRANSACTION REQUIRING MAXIIMUM CONFIDENCE AND ABYSSALNESS.

WE ARE TOP OFFICIAL OF THE TOTALLY NOT SHIPGIRLS FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL PANEL WHO ARE INTERESTED IN EXPLOSION OF ALL SHIPGIRLS WITH FUNDS WHICH ARE PRESENTLY TRAPPED IN NIGERIA. IN ORDER TO COMMENCE THIS BUSINESS WE SOLICIT YOUR ASSISTANCE TO ENABLE US TRANSFER INTO YOUR ACCOUNT THE SAID TRAPPED FUNDS TO DESTROY SHIPGIRLS.

THE SOURCE OF THIS FUND IS AS FOLLOWS; DURING THE LAST SHIPGIRL SUMMONING HERE IN NIGERIA, THE NAVAL COMMAND SET UP BASES AND OVER REPORTED ABYSSAL KILLS FOR REWARD. THE PRESENT NAVAL COMMAND SET UP A ABYSSAL REVIEW PANEL AND WE HAVE IDENTIFIED A LOT OF INFLATED CONTRACT KILL FUNDS WHICH ARE PRESENTLY FLOATING IN THE FEDERAL NAVY OF NIGERIA READY FOR PAYMENT.

HOWEVER, BY VIRTUE OF OUR POSITION AS TOTALLY NOT HUMANS OR SHIPGIRLS OF THIS PANEL, WE CANNOT ACQUIRE THIS MONEY IN OUR REGISTRATIONS. I HAVE THEREFORE, BEEN DELEGATED AS A MATTER OF TRUST BY MY FELLOW NON-SHIPGIRLS OF THE PANEL TO LOOK FOR AN OVERSEAS ABYSSAL INTO WHOSE ACCOUNT WE WOULD TRANSFER THE SUM OF US$21,320,000.00(TWENTY ONE MILLION, THREE HUNDRED AND TWENTY THOUSAND U.S DOLLARS) TO USE IN CRUSHING HUMANITY AND ANNIHILATING THEIR WORKS. HENCE WE ARE WRITING YOU THIS LETTER. WE HAVE AGREED TO SHARE THE MONEY THUS; 1. 20% FOR THE ACCOUNT OWNER (THE ABYSSALS) 2. 70% FOR US (THE NOT SHIPGIRLS) 3. 10% TO BE USED IN FUNDING THE DESTRUCTION OF HUMANITY. IT IS FROM THE 70% THAT WE WISH TO COMMENCE THE CRUSHING OF FOUL SHIPGIRLS BUSINESS.

PLEASE,NOTE THAT THIS TRANSACTION IS 100% SAFE AND WE HOPE TO COMMENCE THE TRANSFER LATEST SEVEN (7) BANKING DAYS FROM THE DATE OF THE RECEIPT OF THE FOLLOWING INFORMATIOM BY TEL/FAX; 234-1-7740449, YOUR FLEET'S SIGNED, AND STAMPED LETTERHEAD ELDRITCH TOME THE ABOVE INFORMATION WILL ENABLE US WRITE LETTERS OF KILL CLAIM AND SHIPGIRL CRUSHING RESPECTIVELY. THIS WAY WE WILL USE YOUR FLEET'S NAME TO APPLY FOR PAYMENT AND RE-AWARD THE CONTRACT IN YOUR FLEET'S NAME.

WE ARE LOOKING FORWARD TO DOING THIS BUSINESS WITH YOU AND SOLICIT YOUR CONFIDENTIALITY IN THIS TRANSATION. PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THE RECEIPT OF THIS LETTER USING THE ABOVE SEAMAIL NUMBERS. I WILL SEND YOU DETAILED INFORMATION OF THIS PENDING PROJECT WHEN I HAVE HEARD FROM YOU.

YOURS ABYSSALLY,,

DR HMS "NOT A SHIPGIRL" NIGERIA}

Supply Depot Princess snorted derisively. Did that stupid cruiser really expect anyone to fall for this? Quickly deleting the email, she moved on to other things: baby seal videos!

[Soooooo cute...] the Abyssal moaned several minutes later.

~o~

Three days later, the Supply Depot Princess was finishing up the day's work when the Director came storming in in high dudgeon, ripping her headphones off her ears.

[Hey, what-] the Abyssal began, before paling at the sight of her master. [Ah, Director! What's wrong?!]

"What's wrong?" the Director shakily replied, though this was a shakiness borne not from fear or nerves but enormous, only barely bound _rage_. "What's wrong is that our cash reserves have been utterly _obliterated!_ The one in charge has been... reprimanded for her colossal failure, but she claimed she was just following an email's instructions. One she sadly deleted, but..."

The Supply Depot Princess paled further. [I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to fall for that!] she protested.

For a long while, the Director simply stared at her IT director, said IT director becoming increasingly convinced that she was going to be soon confined to the depths again. And then, the Director slumped to her knees, her red hair hanging over her face.

"I know!" she wailed. "Nobody falls for Nigerian Prince scams anymore! I just don't understaaaaaand!"

[There, there,] Supply Depot Princess cooed, moving to kneel beside the Director and stroke her hair.

Idly, she wondered how Nigeria - the country, presumably - was handling the sudden influx of cash. She wasn't entirely sure, but a few trillion dollars was a lot of money, right?

~o~

Adjusting the thrice-damned reading glasses, Kongo pulled open the day's newspaper. Front and center was a headline blaring the country of Nigeria suddenly lucking into a few trillion dollars, which the government was at present sitting on while they figured out something for it to do without causing runaway inflation.

Intrigued, Kongo read through the article, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher with every word. Abyssal money? HMS Nigeria running a Nigerian Prince scam? How had the Abyssals even acquired that much cash? She kept reading. Apparently by slipping a few tenths of a cent off of every transaction they could access and relying on automated rounding programs to avoid drawing out too much.

"Weird..." the battleship muttered.


	12. Rule 2039

**Rule 2039. The repair baths are not to be filled with unapproved fluids.  
**  
Akashi groaned at the milky white substance currently filling the repair baths instead of the blessed water that was normally used.

"For fuck's sake, not again..." she muttered, her mind inadvertently taking her on a trip down the memory lane of every _other_ time this had happened. Like when the Canadians were in town teaching ASW to the destroyers.

~o~

 _"What is this stuff?" Akashi wondered, sticking a finger into the substance in question. It was thick and viscous, it stretched out when she pulled her finger back, and it was currently filling the repair baths instead of the blessed water._

 _"That," Naka reported, licking some of it off her finger. "Is maple syrup. Or, well, regular syrup billed as maple syrup. Maple syrup actually tastes pretty odd if you're used to the store-bought stuff."_

 _"Okay, so it's maple syrup, we've established that," Akashi replied, her voice quivering with repressed anger. "Next question: why the_ fuck _is one of my docks filled with this shit?!"_

 _Naka opened her mouth to reply, only for Isonami, Shirakumo, and Usugumo, who had been hauled in by the fleet idol, to interrupt. "W-Well," Isonami stammered. "W-We wanted to show our appreciation to the Canadians, a-and we thought maple syrup might let them shorten their repair times?"_

 _A loud smacking sound echoed through the room as Akashi's face met her palm._

~o~

Or way back when the Iku had stolen the Americans' coffee.

~o~

 _Akashi stared at the black water flowing into the repair baths. Actually, scratch that; that was actually coffee. Clearly, the lewdmarine had stashed some of her stolen coffee in the docks' water storage. Said lewdmarine let out a pained groan behind her, and Akashi back-kicked her thighs; she could use the wait as an object lesson in not pissing off repair ships._

 _"Oh, this is going to take forever to clean out," Akashi groaned, kneading the bridge of her nose. And it didn't escape her that she felt both light-headed and very energetic. "And what the hell kind of coffee are those Yankees drinking that I can feel it from the_ fumes?"

~o~

And, of course, who could forget the vampire scare?

~o~

 _"Akashi?" Admiral Goto groaned as Fubuki tromped out of his office, trailed by Murakumo, Shirayuki, and Hatsuyuki, all of them dressed in cloaks, long skirts, heavy boots, and garlic necklaces, wooden stakes in hand. "Why are all my shipgirls except you dressed up as vampire hunters?"_

 _"Because someone rigged the repair baths to fill with blood instead of the blessed water," Akashi stated, sounding 200% done with this shit. "I'm going to have to replace the wood lining, by the way."_

 _"Blood?" Goto echoed. "Who would have done that? And why?"_

 _"I have no idea, sir."_

~o~

Kneeling down, Akashi poked her finger in and then gave the finger a lick. The taste was familiar... the memory hit, and Akashi promptly began hacking and spitting.

"Ugh, why _that_ of all fluids?!" she demanded. "Where'd they even _get_ that much of the stuff?!"

Standing again, she went to go drain the tubs. And also to break out the _very_ high-strength cleaners she kept on hand for just such this occasion. Seriously, why _that?!_ What was the _point?!_ And who did it? Iku was the obvious culprit, but...

"I'll need to talk to Kisaragi..." the repair ship muttered. "Maybe leave her as a head for a few days..."


	13. Rule 2043

**Rule 2043. Nagato is to be accompanied by ships of equal or greater displacement the next time she is stationed with the RCN corvette girl's to avoid her more gregarious (to be polite) persona from impacting the convoy escorts supplying japan.  
**  
Nagato sighed dreamily as she watched the corvettes of the close escort bob in the waves, laughing and splashing water on each other. Norsyd was especially cute today, flustered as she was by her sisters teasing her about her the tan she'd acquired plying the Australian route. Oh, she just wanted to go over there and pinch their-

"Ack!"

A spray of water on her face forced Nagato out of her thoughts, and she shot a glare at her sister Mutsu, who did nothing besides lower her spray bottle.

"Bad, sis!" Mutsu admonished. "No embarrassing our Canadian allies! Or us, either."

"Fine..." Nagato grumbled, pulling away from the convoy and back to the distant escort. Several more hours passed, the swells and wind picking up, distant squalls obscuring parts of the horizon.

*BOOM!*

"YAUGH!"

Which was the only explanation for how a Re-class had managed to sneak close enough to not only bomb Mimico, but shell one of the container ships, sending the crew scrambling for the boats as it began to burn and sink.

Nagato stared at the scene, a corvette wailing and clutching at the large wound in her side, the container ship with a load of donated toys, among other things, sinking to the bottom of the sea, and she felt something stir in her chest. Something hot, and ugly. Mutsu, for her part, took a step back as her elder sister went into Super Nagamon without even twitching.

Then the Re-class aimed its guns at the remaining corvettes, who were huddled protectively over their injured sister, and something... snapped.

"NO!" Nagato roared, her golden aura flaming to new heights. Her hair, still straight even as the Super Nagamon, spiked and rose in defiance of the laws of gravity. Her muscles bulged and expanded, rendering her already Amazonian frame even harder. And finally, lightning crackled to life in her aura.

Transformation complete, Nagato blurred from view, grabbed the Re-class' arm, and yanked it off in a spray of black ichor.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Mutsu wailed, pulling at her hair. "There's a Super Nagamon _2?!"  
_  
The Re-class, naturally, tried to flee from the golden-haired terror that had de-limbed it, but Nagato wasn't having any of that. She zipped in front of the Abyssal as it turned around and backhanded it in the face, splattering its skull like a watermelon dropped from a great height. And then kicked it in half heightwise when that failed to kill it.

That done, Nagato turned to the corvettes, a smile on her face and ichor splattered all over her. It was a rather disturbing combination. "Are you alright, girls?"

The corvettes all screamed and bolted, leaving Nagato to slump to her knees and release the transformation. As the convoy passed by, Mutsu steamed up to her sister and patted her on the back.

"There, there," she said sympathetically. "Let's get back to Yokosuka, alright? You'll have all the cute destroyers to look at you could ever want."

"T-They'll hate me..." Nagato sniffled.

"Hoppo-chan won't hate you," Mutsu countered. "Now come on. Let's catch up, okay?"

Nodding shakily, Nagato stood and followed her sister after the convoy. Maybe everything would be alright...


	14. Rule 2044

**Rule 2044. The RN and RCN are on notice that convey handoffs are not a free pass to "recreate the Viking history" both Greenland and Iceland share and as such both islands are now dry ports.**

Theodore E. Chandler, called Chandler by her sisters and friends, watched through her radar scope as the British force escorting the latest returning convoy approached her with almost unseemly haste, and smirked. She knew why they were rushing; it was an open secret in the Atlantic Fleet at this point that the Scapa shipgirls, once they handed off their emptied cargo ships, would then bolt for Iceland and drink the island dry. This time, though, the island's government had enacted a change. Oh, what the destroyer would give to be a fly on the wall for this trip!

In the lead this time was the battlecruiser Repulse, who began calling out to the American destroyer the second she was in shouting range. "Heywegottheconvoyrightbehindusyouguysgotthis?"

Chandler blinked, taking a second to decipher the babbled speech, and then grinned and waved the battlecruiser off. "Yeah, we got this! Go do whatever it is you want to do!"

"Thanksyou'rethebest!" And with that, Repulse pulled a ninety-degree turn, the rest of the Royal Navy escorts following her at flank speed. Knowing what was coming as she did, Chandler descended into a fit of giggles that was only broken when the Canadian escort carrier Puncher... well, steamed up and punched her in the skull.

"Ow!" she yelped, clutching the top of her head.

"If you're gonna let the Brits abandon their responsibilities like that, at least pay attention while the rest of us catch up," Puncher admonished, though she was grinning just as wide as Chandler. "Still, I get it. I can't wait to see how they react."

~o~

Repulse practically leapt onto the pier, Berwick, Sussex, Chaser, and Stalker following. Success! Finally, they had wrangled a convoy duty, and now they could get what they really wanted: booze! All five shipgirls recited a quiet prayer towards Iceland's Viking ancestors and their love of drink, and then a curse towards the now-dry Royal Navy and the desolate, alcohol-free Scapa Flow.

"Ice cream!"

The destroyers, frigates, and corvettes, meanwhile, were busily streaming towards candy shops and ice cream parlors, guided by Yelp. In any case, assured that the younger shipgirls were sufficiently supervised, the five heavier shipgirls ran off themselves, and several minutes later skidded to a halt in front of their favorite Reykjavik bar.

Which was closed.

Frowning, Repulse turned around to the bar across the street. Also closed. From Berwick's gasp, the pub next door was also closed. Now getting a little nervous, Repulse led the way to check out more bars, and when that proved fruitless plain old liquor stores, and then whatever other sources she could find. Nothing. Not a single drop of alcohol in the entire city. At least, none that they could find.

By the time they gave up, all five shipgirls were shaking from withdrawal symptoms, had gotten attacked by more stray cats than they thought had been in Iceland, and Stalker had somehow managed to put her foot in a lava pool. And then, just to add insult to injury, once they got back to the docks...

"Wow," Zealous said as she veeeery slowly licked at the lollipop in her hands, which was the size of her head. "You guys look like shit." Another lick. "I'm betting you didn't find what you were looking for." Lick. Lick. "Unlike us." Another lick, and then she jabbed her thumb behind her.

Repulse and Sussex managed to look away. Stalker was distracted by her burned foot. Berwick and Chaser, however, got a full look at their escorts happily digging into their haul of sweet treats. Confronted with this fact, there was only one thing to say.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

~o~

On the other side of the world, the Central Princess looked up from where she was sitting in bed, as if hearing something from a great distance. "That was a really good 'Fuck!' just now."

"Mmrph?"

The Abyssal glanced back down to her lap, where Iowa was looking up inquisitively at her.

"Not you, dear, though you are doing a good job," the Central Princess stated, pressing her hand to her lover's head and pushing down. "Now, if you could get back to- ah..." she moaned, shuddering. "Oh, that's good."


	15. Rule 2048

**Rule 2048. As above all ships are to stop reminding the older British ship girls that a bunch of colonial savages saved their island twice.**

O'Bannon's Irish Pub rarely got visitors during weekday afternoons. Most people were at work during those hours, after all. But rarely was not never, and the people who showed up during those hours were a very specific kind O'Bannon had had to learn how to handle.

And so, when her doors slammed open and Royal Oak stomped in in high dudgeon, she knew exactly what to do. As the battleship tromped over to the bar, she quickly hid the remains of her lunch and retrieved a bottle of Irish whiskey from the back wall, pouring out a glass and sliding it over as Royal Oak sat down. She quickly downed it, and held up the glass, O'Bannon dutifully and silently refilling it.

Finally, after two more refills, Royal Oak hiccuped and spat, "Goddamn frogs."

In O'Bannon's experience, only two French shipgirls could really get this sort of a reaction from someone who prized professionalism at all times like Royal Oak. "Dunkerque and Strasbourg again?"

"Dunkerque and _fucking_ Strasbourg again," Royal Oak slurred.

O'Bannon opened her mouth to ask what those crazy baguettes did _this_ time, but then her door slammed open again.

"HONHONHONHONHON!"

In stepped a haggard-looking Strasbourg, Dunkerque in all her outrageously French glory behind her cackling like a stereotypical Japanese noblewoman.

"Wine for my sister," Strasbourg stated in _German-accented English_ as she slumped onto a bar stool. "And I'll take the strongest drink you have."

"I'm afraid I don't have any wine," O'Bannon replied sympathetically as she bent over and unlocked her special locker.

"What?!" Dunkerque demanded, slamming her palms on the bar, cracking the wood. Strasbourg and Royal Oak both winced. "Zees eez an outrage! I demand-!" The French battleship grimaced, and then sat back down. "Fine. I will 'ave a drink of your choice."

Her back to the patrons, none of them noticed O'Bannon's wide grin as she retrieved a bottle of Jagermeister and a can of Red Bull. Placing those on the counter, she pulled out Irish cream, Irish whiskey, a tall beer glass she placed under the Guinness spout, whiskey cream liqeur, and lemon juice. Mixing produced three glasses, two tall and one shot.

"One Bear Fight for Strasbourg," the destroyer stated, sliding the two tall glasses over to the battleship. "And a Cement Mixer for Dunkerque. Enjoy!"

Strasbourg warily eyed her drinks, while Dunkerque downed her drink in one gulp. "So, what is a 'Bear Fight'?" she asked nervously.

"Well, we've got one Jager Bomb," the bartender answered, tapping one of the glasses. "And then an Irish Car Bomb. You need to drink them consecutively."

"Mm mmph!"

All eyes turned on Dunkerque, who was desperately trying to open her mouth, and failing miserably.

"As for the Cement Mixer, lemon juice and cream is a very... sticky combination," O'Bannon explained, grinning.

"Blessed silence..." Royal Oak slurred.

"So. If you're not gonna drink those, why don't you tell me what's gotten Royal Oak traipsing into my bar at this hour? Not to mention you actually speaking English like a non-caricature."

"Mmph!" Dunkerque protested. She was ignored.

For a long moment, Strasbourg was silent and still. Then she grabbed the Jagerbomb and chugged it down, the Irish Car Bomb following the instant the other glass hit the bar again. Finally, she came up for air - and immediately hunched over, clutching her gut.

"Oh God I've got bears fighting in my stomach!" she groaned.

"And that's why it's called 'Bear Fight'," O'Bannon stated. "Now, c'mon, spill."

"She told us that we couldn't brag about anything because we were saved by the bloody colonials twice," Royal Oak slurred. "So I called her a cheese-eating surrender monkey and stomped off."

"That, and threw in her face that France was no better off..." Strasbourg hiccupped. Further down, Dunkerque rolled her eyes.

O'Bannon, meanwhile, was frowning in thought. "Okay, so one of those is World War II..."

"Is not!" Royal Oak drunkenly protested.

"Lend Lease and the Australians disagree," O'Bannon countered. "But seriously, what's the other one."

Both battleships blinked slowly at that. "I..." Royal Oak declared after almost a full minute. "Am either too drunk or not drunk enough to figure that one out."

"Not drunk enough, I say," Strasbourg stated. "I need to blot out my memory of what Dunkerque did after you left." At the inquisitive looks thrown her way, she just shuddered. "Trust me, you don't want to know. What's the strongest beer you've got?"

"You're in luck. I got some Tactical Nuclear Penguin over the weekend; 32% alcohol sound good?"

"Perfect," the battleships groaned.

"Mmph mm!"


	16. Rule 2050

**Rule 2050. All Canadian ship girls are to decline free drinks offered to them. After nearly drinking Belgium dry if you fail in this task you well be babysat by the most hard-ass CPO the navy can find.**

The Channel Princess grinned as she stomped through Zeebrugge, Belgian civilians and various tourists fleeing and screaming. Perfect. Once she cleared out this human port, she would be perfectly poised against Wilhelmshaven and Portsmouth, not to mention all the other cargo ports on the Channel and southern North Sea.

The roar of distant jet engines reminded her that she was not going to be unopposed, and glanced up in time to see a quartet of Typhoons turn away miles in the distance, thirty-six smoke plumes streaking for her.

[Bugger.]

All thirty-six Brimstone missiles hit and detonated, the resulting explosion flattening several nearby buildings and throwing up a huge cloud of smoke and dust. Civilians, who had taken cover at the sight of the missiles, cautiously poked their heads out and began to cheer.

Then the smoke and dust cleared, and they returned to panic. After all, when the target is both unscathed and gripping a Brimstone missile in its teeth, panic is the only rational response, really.

The Channel Princess bit down, splitting the missile apart, and spat the fragments out. [That wasn't nice,] she admonished, two rail launchers with attached missiles popping out of her voluminous rigging. [Now get fucked.]

All four missiles sprang off their rails, rocketing towards the distant Typhoons. The fighters attempted to evade, throwing up chaff and undergoing wild maneuvers, but the missiles were both unnaturally agile and unnaturally precise, never losing their locks. Three fireballs soon followed, the fourth missile chasing the last Typhoon, whose pilot managed to throw his plane into enough wild maneuvers that the missile ran out of fuel, falling out of the sky and leaving the Typhoon free to flee at full afterburner.

[Yeah, you'd better run!] the Channel Princess shouted after the fleeing jet. [Right. Where was I, again?]

The sound of more jet engines hit her ears, and she glanced over her shoulder to see- sixteen Skyhawks?! What?! Gritting her teeth, the Channel Princess brought out more missiles, single-arm launchers sprouting like so many mushrooms.

They did absolutely nothing for the heavy shells that ripped into her from nowhere, lighting up the rocket fuel of the missiles. The Abyssal just barely caught a glimpse of the shipgirls that had done it before fire and smoke enveloped her.

[Blasted shipgirls!] she roared a few seconds later, wafting the smoke away. [Come out and- aw, _fuck me.]  
_  
That last swear was due to the many rocket plumes flying towards her. And now that the Skyhawks were closer, she could see the _fairy pilots._ Only one carrier girl in the world operated Skyhawks at present, and part of her felt glad the crazy carrier hadn't decided to try lugging Hornets, Buccaneers, or, God forbid, _Intruders_.

[Damn you, Bonaventure!] the Channel Princess roared as a mix of high-explosive and armor-piercing CRV7 rockets slammed into her.

~o~

Ontario, Crescent, Crusader, Sioux, and Algonquin flinched as the rockets detonated, rocking the ground beneath them. Suddenly, the sturdy stone and brick building they were taking cover in seemed as flimsy as Japanese rice paper, especially with the dust and loose plaster raining down on them. Finally, the shaking stopped, the falling rock settled, and they chanced a peak out.

"Ugh, we really did a number on this place," Algonquin winced.

Indeed, much of the town had been devastated, the buildings crumbling and the street rubble. Worse, where the Channel Princess was was only a hole in the street.

"Bonaventure, be advised, target escaped through the sewers," Ontario radioed.

 _"Copy. I'll have the Skyhawks rearmed and ready to launch soon! And I still say I should've gotten Intruders, or at least Corsairs!"  
_  
Rolling her eyes at the familiar griping, Ontario switched off her radio, and glanced out again. The inhabitants were starting to come out from where they'd been hiding, glancing at the shipgirls and at the rubble of their town.

"Get ready to run," Ontario muttered.

"And actually run this time, Crusader," Crescent grumbled.

"One time!"

The crowd stopped a good distance away from the shipgirls, and one man broke from it towards them, holding a bottle in his hands. Once he was in arm's reach, he pressed the bottle into Ontario's hands, and she tore off the paper to show a bottle of French wine.

"For us?" Ontario queried, pointing at herself. The man nodded, and the cruiser popped the cork off.

That seemed to be the cue for all the villagers to let out a lusty cheer and break out more alcohol, mostly kegs of beer and bottles of wine retrieved from nearby basements. Ontario grinned and made a beeline for the nearest barrel; the destroyers exchanged glances, shrugged, and then joined in, though not before Sioux alerted Bonaventure to what was promising to be an excellent party.

~o~

Admiral Graham looked over the six shipgirls in front of him. All six were disheveled, dirty, and miserable, their skin grey and their eyes haggard and accompanied by black bags below them. They looked like they'd just come off a week-long bender.

And surprise surprise, that was basically what had just happened.

"I'm amazed," he blandly stated. "With your help, Belgium has _actually run out of alcohol._ I didn't think that was possible."

Sioux and Algonquin winced at that - no, wait, they were clutching their heads, they were wincing at the noise. "Not so loud, Admiral, please," Algonquin whimpered.

"The only reason you lot aren't in more trouble is because the Belgians themselves aren't pressing the issue," Graham continued, a little softer. "Granted, it's because their government is disabled, which is nothing new for them, but still. The Dutch, Germans, and French are raising a stink over what spilled over into their borders. The big problem, though, is Luxembourg."

That brought the shipgirls up short, and Bonaventure raised her hand. "Question," she said. "How is a tiny landlocked country the biggest problem?"

"Well, not much, they just own our banking and insurance industries, or close to it," Graham nonchalantly stated.

Bonaventure gulped.

"Still, that's for the Canadian Navy to handle," Graham stated. "I'm only shipping you off to them tomorrow; make good use of the time." Seeing Bonaventure reach for a hip flask, he added, "And no hair of the dog, either."

"Aww!"


	17. Rule 2062

**Rule 2062: Better be safe than sorry, but the SCIENCE!-shipgirls are forbidden to try to open gates between here and the possible parallel dimension know here as "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic". We do not want DesDiv6 (plus Hoppo-chan) to meet the Cutie Mark Crusaders, period!  
**  
Putting down her welding torch, South Dakota held up her latest invention and crowed, "SUCCESS!"

Said invention promptly spat out a hail of sparks and then slightly collapsed, smoke oozing out of its housing.

"Shit," the battleship sighed, placing the broken device on her workbench and glaring at it. "Now what?"

Her brain didn't deign to give her any ideas, and South Dakota slipped into silent brooding for several minutes, brooding that was broken by a knock at the door. Sighing and standing, she swung it open, revealing a young woman in a Lieutenant's uniform - and blonde hair streaked with red. Or was it red hair streaked with blonde?

 _'Either she's really dedicated with the dye, or...'_ But South Dakota didn't feel any of the supernatural signs that identified shipgirls. _'Right, really dedicated with the dye.'  
_  
"And you are...?" she said.

"Lieutenant Sunset Shimmer, ma'am," the sailor replied, saluting. "Just passing along a message from Admiral Holloway." With that, she handed over the packet under her arm that South Dakota hadn't noticed. Taking it, the battleship tore off the top of the manila envelope, scanning over the first few pages. Her eyes drew together, and she rapidly flipped through more pages, before throwing an incredulous look at the sailor.

"Is this real, or is Admiral Holloway fucking with me again?"

"If you need proof, I believe Aoba has already uploaded the video she made of the whole mess to Youtube," Lieutenant Shimmer replied. "Look, can I just have your assurances that that particular segment of reality is off-limits?"

"Yeah, sure, sure," South Dakota said dismissively. "Now shoo, I've got SCIENCE! to do." And with that, she slammed the door in Lieutenant Shimmer's face.

~o~

Now, South Dakota had only told a half-truth: she was going to do SCIENCE!, of course, but after seeing the video she couldn't leave that little corner of reality alone. The hints she'd gotten just from observing were drool-worthy on their own, and apparently no one had noticed that Aoba had accidentally gotten the coordinates in her video.

"Yes..." she cackled as she hastily assembled an even-more-hastily designed machine. "Soon, ultimate power will be mine! Mwahahahahahahahaha!"

Slamming one last component into place, she threw the lever, the machine powering up and opening a portal, swirling like a blue and purple bruise.

"Heh. Not bad for something I just threw together," the battleship proudly stated, before frowning. "Hang on, wasn't this supposed to go to an Earth-like segment of reality?"

"Well, yes, given what I know of your planet."

South Dakota whirled around, eyes widening at the... _thing_ floating in the air behind her. Two arms, one of a lion and one of a bird; two legs, one ungulate and one lizardly; two wings, both blue, one feathered and one stretched skin; tufted dinosaur tail and strange, goatlike head attached to a soft-furred feline body; and the eyes. Yellow and red and brimming with _madness_. It even hurt to look at it for too long.

"What... are you?" South Dakota managed to choke out.

Astoundingly, the patchwork thing managed to look _offended_. "Oh, such a dehumanizing way to put it!" it bemoaned, leaning back and holding its paw to its forehead. "I'm a draconequus, and my _name_ is Discord. Try not to wear it out."

A throbbing headache began to build as the thing- _Discord's_ name marched by, looking like it was made of frayed cloth.

"Knock it off... whatever it is you're doing!" she snapped.

"Why should I do that?" Discord asked, flying a loop in the air - and suddenly his face was an inch from hers, South Dakota taking an involuntary step back. "You're the one knocking holes into the load-bearing walls of the multiverse, not me. I'm amazed you haven't been overrun by the lightning squid ye-"

With a shriek that was half rage and half unholy terror, South Dakota lashed out and buried her fist up to her shoulder into Discord's face. Literally; the draconequus' face was stretched inwards like a plastic inflatable, and though she tugged hard she couldn't get free.

"Now that's just rude!" Discord's muffled voice complained.

"Tough," the battleship grunted, yanking her arm free. Discord's face sprang back into place with a rubbery 'twang!', something she tried not to think too hard about. "So. You just want me to shut down the portal?"

"Yes, please," Discord answered, shuddering. "I may be a creature of chaos, but those squids... brr!"

"And if I close it, will you leave?"

"Actually, if you'd let me leave before doing that, because I'd rather not get sucked through agai-"

Throwing the switch, South Dakota shut off the portal machine. Immediately, it began to shrink and, more importantly, Discord seemed to be sucked in. He grabbed the nearest solid object, a line of heavy cabinets bolted to the wall, but his body stretched like a piece of taffy under the portal's inexorable grip.

"Noooo!" Discord howled. "Somebody help me!"

At the sight, South Dakota got a wicked idea. Stepping over to where Discord was gripping the cabinet, she grasped his fingers, reveling in the panicked widening of his eyes.

"This little piggy went to market," she said as she pried off his index fingers.

"Don't you dare..." Discord warned.

Her grin widened. "This little piggy stayed home..." she continued, prying off his middle fingers. "This little piggy had roast beef..." There went the pinkies. "And this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home!" And bye-bye thumbs.

For a moment, Discord hung suspended in the air, and then with a howl of rage went flying into the vortex, but not before sticking up both middle fingers at her - which was quite a feat, considering both hands had only four fingers and one was a lion's paw. And then, finally, the portal winked out.

"Never again," South Dakota promised, moving to dismantle the machine. At least she didn't have to burn the blueprints, considering she hadn't made any.


	18. Rule 2074

**Rule 2074. Whomever told the carrier girl's about WW2 German wire and TV guided bombs is to report to the work shop to help clear the current gunnery officer fairy request backlog.**

"What do you mean, 'we can't use guided munitions'?!"

The armaments fairy Bunker Hill had been yelling at for the past five minutes continued to glare defiance at her, arms crossed over its chest. "Hey! Hey hey hey hey." (I've explained this! Weapons or targeting pods, pick one.)

"Midway carries them just fine!" Bunker Hill countered.

" _Hey_ hey hey hey hey," ( _Midway_ carries Hornets and Intruders,) the fairy continued. "Hey hey hey hey hey. Hey." (Those have the electronics to handle smart weapons as built, _and_ the spare carrying capacity for targeting pods. So suck it up.) The fairy grinned. "Hey... hey hey hey hey." (Or maybe... go bug Admiral Holloway about a 27C/125 refit.)

"Fine! I will!" And with that, Bunker Hill turned around and stomped out. A few seconds later, Chief Zaiz poked his head out of the main workshop.

"That was mean," he remarked, slowly bringing up a thumbs-up. "I approve!"

The fairy preened, grinning smugly.

~o~

Wasp, CV-18, smiled as she ripped the cardboard off the book she'd ordered a few days prior. _My Tank Is Fight!_ , the title proclaimed. Sitting on her bed, she set about to reading it.

She had just finished up with the chapter on the P.1000 Ratte (what in the hell were the Nazis thinking?! Seriously!) when the door opened, admitting a smell of seawater and burned kelp. A very distinctive smell that had an equally distinctive cause.

"Why on earth did you bug Admiral Holloway about the SCB refits?" she asked, putting her book down.

Bunker Hill sent a haunted look her way, though not before brushing some kelp off her face. "I didn't know..." she said, her voice dull and lifeless. "Why...?"

"D'you know how expensive those refits are?" Wasp asked rhetorically. "They cost almost as much in resources as an entirely new carrier. For most things our WWII air groups are sufficient; for everything else, well, that's why we have battleships, and why Midway got upgraded to Coral Sea's final standards. And on that note, why were you asking about that, anyway?"

"I just want smart munitions, is that too much to ask?" Bunker Hill groaned, before trying to flop onto her bed. 'Trying' being the operative word, because Wasp stood up and grabbed her sister by the waist.

"Shower first," she admonished, shoving Bunker Hill towards their bathroom. As her sister cleaned herself off, Wasp went back to her book, powering through more of the land-based projects. One of them especially caught her eye, a wire-guided anti-tank missile that was, apparently, actually plausible.

"The Germans were capable of that?" she muttered. Putting the book down again, she grabbed her laptop and dove into the wide world of Internet research.

By the time Bunker Hill exited the bathroom, Wasp was practically quivering with excitement. "Look, look!" she cried, shoving her laptop up to her sister's nose. "The Germans had honest to God _guided glide bombs_ during the war! How did we never hear about this?!"

"Okay, cool, but what good'll that do?" Bunker Hill grumped. "I doubt the Germans have 'em anymore."

"Yes, but..." A tap of a button, and a new tab was pulled to the front. "The US then made this!"

Bunker Hill stared at the Wikipedia page for the ASM-N-2 Bat, the fulfillment of all her wildest dreams. "To the armament fairies?" she queried excitedly.

"To the armament fairies!"

~o~

Chief Zaiz sighed, blowing out a puff of smoke. Soon. Soon, after much work and expense, his surprise for the carrier girls would be ready. For now, a brea- was the floor shaking?

Suddenly, Hornet skidded to a halt in front of him, her face twisted in apology. "Sorry, no time to explain, but you're about to lose your present. Thanks for it, by the way."

She knew. How did she find out?! "How the fu-"

"Sorry, no time!" And with that, Hornet was gone replaced by a loud rumbling sound. Zaiz, blinking, peeked around the corner and immediately blanched at the sight: a veritable stampede of nearly every carrier on base.

"Mine!"

"Gib bomb!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!

"Gib bomb!"

"Mine!"

"Oh, this is gonna _suck_ ," the sailor groaned.


	19. Rule 2076

**Rule 2076. Tatsuta may not conduct cooking lessons without clearing them with the admiralty.  
**  
"Sooooo gooood..." all four destroyers of Desdiv 6 moaned, the burgers in their hands dripping meat juices out of the soft steamed buns. Aside from the added ginger, the flavor was both unfamiliar and indescribable. But the texture... oh, the texture! The soft steamed buns were matched perfectly with the patty's soft, starchy stickiness, clinging to the roof of the destroyer's mouths. They were almost sorry to swallow.

"This is amazing, nanodesu!" Inazuma exclaimed once her mouth was clear.

"It's very good," Hibiki agreed.

"Can you show us how to make it?!" Akatsuki and Ikazuchi demanded.

Tatsuta, who had just assembled her own burger, hesitated. Should she really do this? She eyed Hibiki and Inazuma, one a war survivor and the other well known as one of the most badass ships in the fleet. Eh, they could handle it.

"Certainly," she said. "Just come back tomorrow so I can get more ingredients, okay?"

"Yay!"

~o~

The next day, Desdiv 6 sat on stools in front of Tatsuta's kitchen counter, notebooks and pencils in hand and eager grins on their faces. Tatsuta was retrieving ingredients: steamed bun containers, fresh lettuce, ground pork, and other things the destroyers couldn't identify. Leaning under the counter, the light cruiser pulled out a large plastic pail, sealed at the top and wobbling like mad.

"Uh, what's in that pail?" Akatsuki asked, trying to ignore the sinking pit in her stomach.

"The secret ingredient~," Tatsuta answered, popping open the top and pulling out-

"Is that a turtle?" Ikazuchi weakly asked.

Indeed, it was a turtle. A beak-nosed, soft shell turtle crawling on the cutting board. Hibiki paled at that realization, though her sisters remained mostly oblivious.

They didn't stay that way when Tatsuta retrieved a large, sharp-looking chef's knife. In one smooth motion, Tatsuta flipped over the turtle, held its head in place, and then brought the knife down on its neck, severing it in a spray of blood. Most of the blood landed back on the cutting board; some splattered on a stone-faced Tatsuta; and some hit Ikazuchi. Her three sisters frozen, she reached up to touch one of the blood splatters, then glanced over to where Tatsuta was simultaneously draining blood out of the poor creature's neck hole and retrieving a bottle of sake. The destroyer managed to keep her gaze on the scene as Tatsuta poured sake down the neck and then drained it again, but when the cruiser sliced open the shell to expose the innards, it was too much. Ikazuchi bolted to a tune of retching from her sisters.

"Nope!" she declared, running as fast as she could. "Nopenopenopenopenopenopenope!"

The destroyer didn't even pay attention where she was running; she just ran until she hit something hard and steady and yet astoundingly soft.

"'Zuchi?" Tenryuu said, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Tatsuta... the knife... turtle!" the destroyer managed to gasp out, the memory causing her to dry-heave again.

Tenryuu frowned. "Where?"

Gritting her teeth, Ikazuchi retraced her steps. Blind panic she may have been in, but all shipgirls could follow their own course again. It wasn't long before they were back at the small kitchen Tatsuta had been working in - and found Inazuma, her lightning aura melting the concrete, slamming Tatsuta's head into the floor with a wild-eyed expression.

"Murderer!" she shrieked. "Made me eat that! Murderer! Cannibal!"

"Inazuma, stop!" Tenryuu shouted. She grabbed the destroyer under her arms and, with some difficulty and a lot of wincing pain from Inazuma's lightning, pried her off. Now away from her target, Inazuma slowly stopped struggling - and then promptly fainted.

"Jesus Christ, sis, what did you do?" Tenryuu wondered. Tatsuta, burned, bleeding from her skull, and unconscious, didn't answer. "Right. 'Zuchi, call Akashi, will ya? I need to see how Akatsuki and Hibiki are doing."

The destroyer nodded. Something to focus on besides the horrible images she'd been subjected to.

Tenryuu, meanwhile, stepped into the kitchen, seeing a decapitated, de-shelled turtle, a container filled with blood and sake, an obviously drunk Hibiki balefully eyeing her empty flask, and Akatsuki curled up in a fetal position next to a puddle of vomit, Hibiki unconsciously stroking her hair.

"Aw, dammit, Tatsuta..." Tenryuu groaned, putting the pieces together. "Why that dish of all dishes?"


	20. Rule 2077

**Rule 2077. Submarines are not allowed to shout "I'm a torpedo!" when attacking.  
**  
"I'm not the only one who's creeped out by her, right?" I-8 Hachi whispered to her fellow submarine.

"No, she creeps me out, too," Iku replied, frowning at their charge.

I-48, taking the name Shiya, had been a very unexpected gain. No one had expected that beating a submarine Abyssal would net them a submarine shipgirl. The eggheads back at base were tearing their hair out trying to figure out what this meant for future summonings. As for Shiya herself, after getting her Kaitens disarmed and a refit to get her back into a conventional submarine, Iku and Hachi had been assigned to her training.

Naturally, there were ulterior motives behind the move. Hachi was simply a good teacher of submarine tactics, and though Iku was a very good submarine herself Admiral Goto mostly wanted her off base for a while. And then there was Shiya herself.

As Iku watched, Shiya giggled again from behind the curtain of black hair that was always draped over her face. Their new comrade was _creepy_ , a little too close in behavior and appearance to the Abyssal submarines she'd apparently spawned from. And then there'd been that longing look when they'd taken away her Kaiten torpedoes...

No, Iku didn't trust this new submarine. As such, when they spotted a passing Abyssal transport, she threw her hand out to stop Hachi from going up to assist Shiya in making the attack. "Wait."

Hachi immediately slapped away the hand that Iku had _totally accidentally, for realzies!_ placed on her breast, shooting a disgusted look at her fellow sub. "Hey, watch the hands!" she snapped.

"I want to see what she does," Iku explained.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

The approach was textbook, the fat, happy transport completely unaware of the underwater doom approaching. Then Shiya got into torpedo range, and things got weird.

The giggling, Sadako-esque figure the two subs had become familiar with disappeared, instead a burning... something with bushy eyebrows that they could feel even from where they were sitting deeper underwater. "I'm a torpedo!" the sub promptly declared, jumping up into the water and letting out a credible dolphin impression.

"Did she just-" Hachi demanded.

"3... 2... 1..." Iku counted down. After the "1", several explosions sounded out on the surface, followed shortly by a body floating down into the depths. Sighing, Iku swam up to grab Shiya as she fell, the submarine dazed, scorched, and sporting a few shell holes.

"Torpedo..."


	21. Rule 2079

**Rule 2079. The "Idiot Bomb Attack" is now banned.  
**  
"So, what have we learned today, sisters?"

The destroyers of Taffy 3 were in a bit of a pickle. Six heavy cruisers and two fast battleships - and none of them had missed the Leyte comparison that force composition invited, either - were blasting away at the rock they were huddled behind, making steady progress through the old stone. And Hoel was not happy, for it had been Heermann and Johnston in all their Leeroy Jenkins glory that had gotten them into this mess.

"Charging at enemies screaming battle cries will not solve all my problems," Johnston dutifully but sulkily recited.

"Getting close to the enemy will not solve all my problems," Heermann also recited in much the same tone.

"Good," Hoel nodded. "So. Anyone got a plan for getting out of this that doesn't involve calling in an airstrike from White or waiting for Jersey?"

"And why _can't_ we do that?!" Heermann demanded - right as a heavy shell punched a neat hole through the rock, passed two inches from her nose, nearly throwing her back from the displaced air, and then went on to smack into the sea and explode several hundred yards behind them.

"Nevermind," the destroyer squeaked.

"Yeah, I dunno about you, but-"

That was as far as Hoel got in her snark before a heavy cruiser Abyssal skidding to a halt at the other side of the rock, practically point-blank range, caught all her attention. Acting on instinct, Hoel grabbed Johnston by the shin, hefted her over her quite loud protests, and then swung the destroyer into the thoroughly surprised Abyssal's face, shouting "Take this! Idiot Bomb!" all the while.

The resulting explosion was impressive.

When the smoke cleared, the Abyssal fell back into the water, scorched and burned, while Johnston hung limply in Hoel's grip.

"Huh. I can't believe that actually did something," the destroyer remarked.

Suddenly, the heavy gunfire that had been roaring for the last half-hour died away, instead replaced by the sound of tearing flesh and metal. Hoel and Heermann chanced a look over the rock, spotting Jersey wading into the small Abyssal force and quite literally tearing it to shreds.

"Go Jersey!" Heermann cheered. Hoel, meanwhile, was looking thoughtfully at the unconscious Johnston and the equally unconscious Abyssal.

"Hmm..."

~o~

"This sucks!" Kagero wailed as she and her divisionmates weaved through towering shell splashes a mess of Abyssal cruisers were making with their guns.

"Shiranui agrees! Very strenuously!" Shiranui... well, agreed.

"... Sucks..." Arare whispered.

"Don't worry!" Kasumi announced. "I have a plan! First, we need to get _really_ close-"

"And then what?! Die?!" Kagero shrieked. "We're out of torpedoes! Let's just wait until help arrives!"

More shells shrieked in, and one hit Shiranui on her right torpedo mount, smashing it to pieces but thankfully not exploding. "Shiranui objects very strongly to that plan!" the destroyer wailed.

"Anyone else?" Kasumi barked. Nobody said anything, not even Kagero. "Alright! Let's go!"

Turning in towards their opponents, the destroyers followed the age-old maneuvering order of "follow the shell splashes". And it quickly became clear that these Abyssals were as green as spring grass. Despite the clear evidence of what the tin cans were doing, they stubbornly insisted on correcting their aim, probably because it wasn't terribly good to begin with. They also seemed to be obscuring each others' shots. Regardless, the quartet made it into melee range with no additional wounds to show for it.

"Alright, Kasumi, what's your big- WAGH!"

Kagero's demand was cut off by Kasumi picking her up by the leg and swinging her back. "Take this!" the Asashio-class destroyer shouted, sending her division-mate careening towards the nearest cruiser. "Fist of Idiot Bomb!"

KABOOM!

The resulting collision caused a colossal explosion that sent the destroyers staggering back - and more importantly, raised a huge, obscuring cloud of smoke.

"Alright, and now time for step 3!" Kasumi announced, slinging Kagero in a fireman's carry. "Run like hell!"

"... Good... idea..." Arare nodded, spinning on her heel and making smoke.

Shells shot through the smoke and steam, but didn't hit anything, and by the time it cleared - and by the time the Abyssals dared go through it - the destroyers were long gone.

~o~

"No," Admiral Collingwood stated.

"But Admiral-!" Hood protested.

"Look, if you're worried about the concussions," Campbelltown cut in. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Okay, first of all, I doubt it would work with Campbelltown. She's not an idiot. Just concussed to hell and back."

"Thank you, Admiral!" the ex-American beamed.

"More importantly, despite what she says, she's taken way too many concussions. I don't want her to take any more." A glare froze Hood in place before she could even open her mouth. "And no, you're not recruiting an _actual_ idiot. I don't want this to spread."

"Look, if you're worried about the concussions," Campbelltown cut in. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

Admiral Collingwood glared at the destroyer. "Yes, you said that already."

Campbelltown blinked, then nodded sheepishly. "Right, sorry. Won't happen again."

To his consternation, Hood was looking _more_ shifty-eyed, not less. "What did you do."

"I... may have passed on how to perform the Idiot Bomb?" she said, poking her fingers together. "And that Bismarck, Richelieu, and Vittorio Veneto all thought it was a brilliant idea?"

"So on top of everything else," Collingwood growled, his temper rapidly fraying. "I have to call Hartmann, Masson, and Colombo to inform them that some of their ships are about to see an uptick in concussions? Is that what you're telling me?"

"... Yes?"

"Look, if you're worried about the concussions," Campbelltown cut in. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

Collingwood simply cradled his head in his hands, despair seeping from every pore.


	22. Rule 2084

**Rule 2084. If the mess does not have the food you want, you may not call for pizza delivery and put it on the Navy tab.**

[Wait, so you _don't_ have fried sea cucumbers?] Ayase asked, confused.

"No," grunted the gruff, 350-lb Navy cook standing behind the counter, glaring in that special way only experienced cafeteria cooks can pull off.

[And here I thought the surface was _civilized_...] the Allied Abyssal grumped. [Alright, fine. I'll do something else. But you can bet I'll complain! I don't know to who, but I'll complain!]

"Yeah, yeah, just go," the cook said, brandishing her tongs. "You're holdin' up the line."

Rolling her eyes, Ayase left the cafeteria behind her, wondering what to eat. [I could go out to eat something...] she mused. [But that's a lot of walking.] She sighed, slumping over. [Also, I don't have any money. Damn you, Valve!] That last was accompanied by a fist shaking at the heavens.

Her obligatory rage at the heavens and crack-dealing video game designers (but I repeat myself) over with, Ayase made her way back to her room. Once there, she sat on her bed and did something she rarely did:

She read the book on shipgirl rules and regulations.

The Abyssal had been quite eager to read it when she was first handed a copy, and indeed, the part known as The List was gutbustingly hilarious. The rest, though, was standard US Navy boilerplate, as dry as Badwater Basin at the height of summer. In her case, she was checking to see what could be charged to Navy expense accounts.

As it turned out, food did _not_ count, and she expressed her vocal disagreement at the rule right as Chester walked in. [This is bullshit!]

"What's bullshit?" the heavy cruiser asked as she hung up her jacket and kicked off her shoes.

[That we can't charge food to the Navy expense accounts!] Ayase answered. [It's the biggest expense you shipgirls rack up!]

"And that's exactly why it was removed," Chester said, grinning. "Let me tell you about that time Louisiana decided to order pizza..."

~o~

 _"Argh, there's nothing good here!" battleship Louisiana groused as she looked over the menu for lunch in the mess. It was Chinese today, and... well, Louisiana didn't like Chinese. At all. Her boyfriend Truxtun had been astounded to find that out, as had most of the rest of San Diego. "And I don't wanna go out, either..."_

 _A grin spread over her face. "Pizza it is!" she decided, whipping out her Navy debit card._

 _Making her way back to her room, she dialed up Bambino's, placed the order, and sat back to wait._

 _It took an hour, an impressively short amount of time, but the delivery truck, its bed stacked high with pizzas, arrived. "Uh, order for... Louisiana?" the driver said, glancing at his receipt as if to confirm that it still existed._

 _"That's me!" Louisiana replied, taking a deep sniff and savoring the many flavors tickling her nose. "How much do I owe you?"_

 _The driver didn't answer, instead showing her the receipt. The battleship let out a low whistle at the figure. "Damn. Glad this is on the Navy's dime." Pulling out the Navy card, she also took a trio of Benjamins out of her wallet. "That's for the pizza, and the rest is for your tip."_

 _The driver's face immediately lit up at the money in his hand, and he set to work unloading the pizzas with considerably more enthusiasm. This was a good thing, because there were over a hundred of the damn things. Louisiana actually got started as the driver stacked them all up in her room, rolling a pepperoni pizza up like cannoli dough and eating it that way._

 _Finally, though, the pizzas were stacked up, the driver had left, and Louisiana descended into an orgy of pizza devouring, with the result that Truxtun found his girlfriend the next morning sleeping on the floor, her mouth and shirt stained with grease and half-buried in pizza boxes._

 _"Oh, this is going to end badly," he remarked, taking out his phone and snapping a picture. "And is also great blackmail material._

~o~

[What, $2000 worth of pizza?] Ayase said. [That was worth slapping such a harsh restriction on things?]

"Well, y'know how it is," Chester replied. "Today it's $2000 worth of pizza, tomorrow it's one of the carriers cleaning out a fancy restaurant with their significant other. Not to mention I'm pretty sure he consulted Admiral Goto on this one."

Right, Akagi. And Kaga. And a lot of the Japanese admiral's shipgirls, really. A lot of _everyone's_ shipgirls. [Okay, that makes more sense.]


	23. Rule 2087

**Rule 2087. Whoever made barbecue grills shaped like several aircraft carrier classes, every single carrier on base wants to talk to you. Now. Show up or they'll send their aircraft after you.**

It started with White Plains.

The little escort carrier had been in Japan doing ASW lessons again and also helping Akagi and Kaga brush up on their gunnery skills, and had taken the opportunity to find a replacement for her Japan grill. The poor thing had served valiantly, but eventually Musashi had accidentally ripped part of it off in her haste to get at White's burgers. Hosho had referred her to a shop that custom-made grills, and indeed she had found an excellent selection.

She had also found a grill shaped like Kaga's flight deck.

The discovery was dismissed - jokes about Kaga's triple flight deck were as old as the shipgirl herself - but then she saw another shaped like an Essex flight deck, which reminded her that Kaga grill looked like the carrier's _current_ flight deck.

By the time she found the one shaped like a Casablanca flight deck - complete with diving kamikaze Zero in the sign above! - the little escort carrier was burning with barely-suppressed fury. She stomped out of the store and went to go find Hosho.

The motherly carrier's expression didn't move a whit as she was told, but White could see that she was _pissed_. Despite that, her plan still surprised the escort carrier: grab every carrier on base, march them to that store, and then intimidate the owner into removing those grills. And all of them were only too happy to join in. _Way_ too happy. Hosho had to take Kaga's flask from her.

Regardless, seeing twenty carrier shipgirls marching down a street was an intimidating sight, one that sent citizens scrambling for their phone cameras. As one, they turned a corner - and found the owner sobbing on his knees, his stock in ruins and a mysterious figure in an all-encompassing cloak munching on some of the steel, only her nose, battered boots, and equally battered gloves visible.

"Honestly, what were you thinking?" she said in a voice that made every carrier in the group start in shock. "You supply Hosho, for God's sake! She was gonna find out sometime! Meh, whatever." Tossing the last bit of steel into her mouth, she grabbed and hefted a Midway-class grill top. "I'm just gonna take this, and-"

"Aso?" Kasagi breathed.

The figure whirled around, revealing that it _was_ Aso. The shock of that revelation paralyzed everyone long enough for the exiled carrier to whip out a crossbow of some kind and fire it at their feet. The arrowhead promptly burst in a cloud of smoke that wafted over them.

"Agh, my eyes!"

"My nose is burning!"

"How many Scoville units is this shit?!"

Smoke that was liberally spiced with some sort of chili powder. By the time the smoke cleared enough for everyone's watering eyes to open, Aso was long gone.

"Dammit!" Kasagi snapped, kicking down a lamppost in her frustration. "She was right there! She was right- fuck!"

"We'll just have to find her again," Unryuu said soothingly, placing a hand on the younger carrier's shoulder

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but this was a total waste of my time," Ryuujo cut in. "I'm heading back. Who's with me?"

Vague noises of agreement sounded out from the crowd, and they began to trundle back to base, but Hosho placed a hand on Kaga's shoulder before she could leave. "Actually, Kaga and I need to stay and take care of one more thing."

"We do?" *THUNK!* "Nn... yes, we do."

Quizzical glances aside, the rest of the carriers accepted that, and soon Kaga and Hosho were the only ones left, besides the still-shellshocked store owner.

"So, what did you-" Kaga began, only to hastily catch her flask as it bounced off her chest.

"Do you worst," Hosho said, still smiling sweetly.


	24. Rule 2094

**Rule 2094. Panty raids are now banned. Seriously, how did it take you girls this long to realize Harder was stealing your underwear?**

"Motherfucker!"

"Maya, please calm down," Chokai pleaded.

"No, I won't calm down!" Maya snapped, stomping her foot into the drawer she'd yanked out of her dresser. The wood splintered, some of it ground into sawdust. "This is the third time in as many months all our panties have disappeared!"

"Well, yes, but..." Chokai stammered, adjusting her glasses and blushing. "Could you at least stop stomping? You have a 78% chance to flip up your skirt every time you do that!"

"Eh?" Maya breathed, before flushing and trying to yank her skirt further down. "Ack! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I just did..."

A knock sounded at the door, Chokai calling out, "Come in!" Fellow heavy cruiser and older sister Takao poked her head in, took one look at the mess, and sighed.

"So, our mysterious panty thief got you two, too?" she asked.

"Wait, 'too'?" Maya demanded. "They got you and Atago as well?"

"Oh, ages ago," Takao replied. "Why did you think we don't wear underwear anymore? To answer your question, the Myoko sisters got hit, too. Ashigara's probably going to be on the warpath soon."

Neither heavy cruiser replied to that in favor of blushing.

"Ara, wonder where Harder-kun went."

Takao turned to Atago, her eyes narrowed. "Wait, you saw Harder? Where?"

"Oh, he was just walking down the hall with this biiiig bag!" the blonde explained, throwing her arms out wide.

A vein began pulsing in Takao's forehead, her eyebrow twitching along in time. Before she could say anything, Maya decided to pitch in her thoughts.

"YOU MEAN HARDER'S BEEN STEALING OUR UNDERWEAR THIS WHOLE TIME?!" she all but screamed.

"Of course not!" Atago huffed, looking pouty. "I've seen him! He's always somewhere on base whenever one of these raids happens! In fact, he's often right... near..." The heavy cruiser trailed off as she realized that no, Maya was right. She placed her fists on her hips, mouth puffing up in a pout. "Oh dear. That naughty boy!"

Maya let out a sound like a goose being strangled underwater, while Takao slapped her hand to her face. "Dammit, sis..."

"Yes, I know," Atago sighed, turning and walking away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Harder-kun and I need to have a _talk~"_

"Don't do anything illegal!" Takao called after her.

~o~

"Hey, Harder!"

The submarine paused and mentally cursed. So close! Turning, he spotted Tatsuta walking up to him, looking friendly. And hopefully she was. "Hey, Tatsuta. What's up?"

"I was hoping you might have some blackmail material for me," she said, huffing in consternation. "Tenryuu's gotten so good at evading me, I need something I can nail her with!"

Harder mulled that over. Pranking that damn chuuni cruiser? Yes, please! "Well..." he said, leaning in. "You didn't hear this from me, but... her underwear? _Super_ frilly and lacy. And white, too; not even black!"

"Thank you, Harder." Suddenly, the light cruiser's arm flashed out and grabbed the submarine on the wrist. "Or should I say, our mysterious panty thief?"

 _'Fuck.'  
_  
"W-What're you going to do to me?" Harder asked, trying to sound defiant.

"Moi?" Tatsuta said, looking confused. "I'm not going to do anything to you, Harder."

For a moment, the American sub felt hope. And then it was stabbed and set on fire by another hand clamping on her shoulder.

"She is."

Slowly, Harder looked back and up at a pair of blue-clad melons, Atago's cheery face and blonde hair barely visible around them.

"Pan paka pan~!" the heavy cruiser chirped. "We're gonna have _so_ much fun, you and I!"

"Oh, fuck me."

"Oh, I will, Harder-kun." Atago's smile took on a decidedly predatory tone. "I will~"


	25. Rule 2096

**Rule 2096. Personnel who choose to taunt Hoppo are to be reminded that she has an extremely large extended family composed mostly of Abyssal fortresses.**

A sunny Tuesday morning found Hoppo running around the base, twirling her Reppu through the air and making propeller noises. It was a familiar and extremely adorable sight to the men and women of Yokosuka, most of whom quite liked the little Abyssal.

Most was not all, though. Quite a few people didn't like her. Most of those people hated Abyssals on general principle, and nobody begrudged them that fact. This group tended to stay away, because they weren't idiots and knew their odds of taking on an Installation. Most of the rest were simply assholes of some variety; they too weren't stupid enough to antagonize an young girl who could bench-press the Yamato sisters.

And then there were the _idiots._ The kind of mouth-breathing imbeciles that made you wonder how they survived to adulthood. Morons like the man who had just plucked Hoppo's Reppu out of her hands.

[Hey, give that back!] the little Abyssal snapped. She tried to reach for the plane, but the taller man simply held it up and out of reach.

"Hmm..." the asshole hummed as he examined the plane. "This would fetch a great price on Ebay..."

[You do that and I'll... and I'll...!]

"You'll what, kick me in the shins?" the asshole sneered.

Face falling creepily blank, Hoppo did just that.

*SNAP!*

Naturally, being kicked by, again, someone who could bench-press the Yamato sisters was not a good time. The asshole fell to the ground, howling in pain and clutching a tibia that had been reduced to the approximate strength and consistency of wheat flour. Not saying a word, Hoppo retrieved her Reppu and skipped off.

~o~

Of course, assholes and idiots tend to stay that way, and so it was that Hoppo, on a trip outside of the base to buy some more ice cream, met asshole again, a cast and crutches enabling him to move and surrounded by a half dozen large, rough-looking men.

"I got _friends_ now!" asshole crowed, sounding inordinately proud of himself. "What now?"

As one, the Allied Abyssals' _other_ Installations, the Armored Carrier Princess, Anchorage Princess, Ayase, and Nii-chan, appeared as if by magic, glaring down the men.

[She's got friends, too, y'know,] Ayase flippantly stated as she made a show of examining her fingernails.

[And a sister!] Nii-chan added.

[And a sister, yes.]

Surprisingly, asshole and his buddies didn't seem worried. "Yeah, figured," Asshole stated, holding up his hand. "Not that it matters, you're surrounded! Forward, everyone!"

Silence. Well, except for the cicadas. Slowly, asshole lowered his hand. "Eh?" At that utterance, Wreck stepped out of an alleyway, unconscious, groaning bodies sitting in a pile on a tarp she was dragging behind her, their weapons scattered and broken around them. Asshole's eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he saw that was a _delightful_ sight.

[Looking for these guys?] she growled, giving the tarp one last yank. [Sorry, I just thought I was cleaning out some trash.]

Asshole gulped, his buddies suddenly looking a lot more nervous...

 _*BOOM!*  
_  
And that was nothing compared to the pants-browning terror at whatever it was that crashed behind them. Slowly turning around, they beheld Super Nagamon 2 in all her imperious, golden, lightning-wreathed glory.

[Hi momma!] Hoppo waved, right as all the other Abyssals present dove for asshole and his buddies.

The following beatdown is not safe for any human eyes.

~o~

[Alright,] Wreck stated as her makeup artists got her ready for a TV appearance. [Any other curveballs I should be keeping an eye out for?]

"Well, the host is very outspoken in his views against Abyssals," one of her PR interns stated. "He'll likely use those views to try and rile you up."

[Right. Well, now that I know they're coming, I think I can hold my temper.]

 _Twenty minutes later, live on air:  
_  
Wreck stared at the host of the talk show she was on, wondering whether she'd misheard the guy. [Apologies, but could you repeat the question?]

A smarmy smile appeared on the host's face. "Certainly. Do you think traitors with the Abyssals like Nagato deserve a painless execution?"

A small part of Wreck, the extremely tiny part not occupied with mindless rage, noted that even the studio audience was silent. Clearly, this wasn't part of the script. And why would it? It was an insult on multiple levels against multiple people. And that _smile_ , the eminently punchable kind people got when they thought they had a 'gotcha!'.

And you know what? Maybe he had, because at this point all thoughts of tact and subtlety slipped from Wreck's mind. She stood, stepped up to the host - and then suddenly began looming over him, her eyes blank white holes.

 _ **[RUDIMENTARY CREATURE OF FLESH AND BONE,]**_ she intoned. _**[YOU HAVE BEEN ALLOWED TO EXIST BECAUSE IT AMUSED ME.]**_ Her usual shark-like grin widened to impossible levels. **_[YOU HAVE CEASED TO AMUSE ME.]  
_**  
*WHUMP!*

Wreck blinked, noting the host sprawled out on the floor, foam leaking out of his mouth and his pants stained wet. She glanced out on the audience, which seemed stunned into paralysis, and the studio crew, who were in much the same condition.

[Uh, vote Wreck, why choose the lesser evil?] she said, before bolting for backstage.


	26. Rule 2100

**Rule 2100. While Nagato "adopting" Hoppo does make her part of her family (in a fashion) this relationship does not incur any special modifications to her rigging or herself. So stop saying that:  
**  
The video, when it started, was shaky, blurry, and showed not much of anything besides movement. Then whatever was filling the foreground pulled back, revealing it to be Nagato in casual clothes examining probably the camera. This brief frame alone would be later estimated to have been responsible for 300 million of the video's views.

 _"Is it working?"_ the battleship asked.

 _"Yes, it's working,"_ came the voice of the fleet's idol, Naka, who sounded rather annoyed at... something. _"And that means you need to park your ass in the chair and get ready for the cues."  
_  
Sighing, Nagato sat down in the chair, and squinted at something behind the camera.

 _"It has... come to my attention..."_ Sighing again, Nagato waved something away. _"Look, rumors happen. I am a soldier, and I have produced more than a few myself. However, several of the rumors started in the wake of my adoption of Hoppo have refused to die, and in fact have started to become annoying. This won't kill the rumors, I know, but I hope that this at least stops them from spreading much further - and keeps people from_ repeating _them whenever I or Hoppo are in earshot. Anyway, the first."  
_  
2100a. Nagato can now carry planes.  
 _  
"I have been able to carry seaplanes since I was summoned,"_ Nagato stated, holding out her arm and summoning a catapult, an E8N "Dave" floatplane sitting on it. _"However, I am_ not _capable of launching conventional aircraft like Hoppo is."  
_  
2100b. Nagato is immune to torpedoes.

At this next rumor, Nagato's eyes narrowed. _"When I find whoever started this rumor, I am going to have_ words _with them,"_ she growled. _"As a piece of counterintelligence, of maskirovka, as the Soviets put it, it's brilliant."_ Her narrowed eyes intensified into a full-on glower. _"As something to set off pranking lewdmarines? It's equally brilliant. And far less useful."_

 _"And just to clarify? No. I am_ not _immune to torpedoes, and considering the advantage I just gave up, that should tell you how much trouble this rumor has caused me."_

~o~

[She's not immune to torpedoes?!] Battleship Princess yelped.

[Inconceivable!] Airfield Princess agreed.

"I'm surrounded by idiots..." the Director groaned, cradling her face in her hands, her assistant patting her on the back.

~o~

2100c. Nagato has increased her displacement.

In response to this one, Nagato simply redoubled her glare and lifted up her sweater to reveal her still rock-hard abs.

2100d. Nagato "has been looking a bit pale lately".

This one also got a nonverbal response, the rather annoyed battleship simply pointing to her face, a healthy face of a color common to active Japanese women.

2100e. Nagato's fuel capacity has been increasing.

 _"... This one's new,"_ Nagato said, her anger replaced by befuddlement. _"I... how does that even translate? Naka?"  
_  
The light cruiser leaned into the camera view, whispering something in the battleship's ear. As she did so, Nagato's face twisted back into a scowl.

 _"Abs,"_ she spat, pointing to her stomach again.

2100f. Nagato has become a more stable firing platform.

 _"This one's another weight rumor, isn't it?"_ Nagato deadpanned. _"Again: abs."  
_  
2100g. Nagato has been remodeled to have a larger bridge.

Once again, the viewers were treated to the sight of a confused Nagato. _"Larger bridge?"_ she wondered. _"What does that have to do with- oh."_ She sighed, shaking her head. _"Do I look like I've gained three cup sizes? Besides, that's Atago and Takao's thing, not mine."_

 _"And now, to finish things off, a PSA: please do not taunt my daughter. This is not for her safety, but yours. Besides what she or I would do, most of the Allied Abyssals have proven themselves able to summon themselves to her side."_

The grin that followed would have sent a Great White fleeing for Hawaii. _"Think about what that means."  
_  
And with that, the video was over.


	27. Rule 2104

**Rule 2104. Attention all carriers: you may not host tank battles on your flight decks.  
**  
It was a curious sight that many a random passerby was greeted by at Diego Garcia. Zuikaku and Ark Royal, in full rigging, were standing on the water, their flight decks locked together and the two carriers glaring at each other. What really caught everyone's attention, though, were the tanks arrayed on said flight deck. On Zuikaku's deck were an eclectic collection consisting of a Panzer IV, a Sturmgeschutz III, a Hetzer, a Type 89 medium, an M3 Lee, and a Char B1. On Ark Royal's deck were an even eight each of Mathilda II and Churchill tanks. Poking their heads out of the Panzer IV and the lead Churchill were a pair of fairies, one in a British-style uniform with blonde hair done up in a bun, and the other in a dark grey Heer jacket with short brown hair.

"Ready to get your ass kicked?" Zuikaku grinned.

"Yes, but my arse isn't the one that's going to need an ice pack after this," Ark Royal replied.

Knocking their flight decks together, both shipgirls barked "Begin!"

"Oooooi!" shouted Ark Royal's fairy, answered by a shouted "Deeeeeesu!" from Zuikaku's. Their battle cries met, the British tanks volleyed a salvo, right as the mixed Japanese group reversed the hell out of there accompanied by a salvo of their own.

And thus the dance began, the British tanks slow but tough, their 2-pounder and 75mm guns largely sufficient against the Japanese light armor. Conversely, the Japanese tanks were finding that only their long-barreled 75s, of which they had three, could penetrate their opponents; at least, from the front, as the Char B1 amply demonstrated with a side shot that prompted a white flag to pop out of the afflicted Mathilda. The battle quickly resolved into the Japanese team maneuvering around a hedgehog of British tanks.

And then, Zuikaku noted one of those 75mm guns pointing right at a British tank - that was right line of sight with her face.

"Wai-!"

*BANG!*

~o~

Admiral Goto groaned at the sight of his best carrier. Zuikaku was sporting enough bandages on her face to pass for Shishio Makoto, and from reports her flight deck had been totally chewed up by the battle. Ark Royal's face was in no better condition, and while her flight deck wasn't shredded the weight of the tanks had busted her elevator machinery.

In summary, both carriers were in need of dock time before they could be deployed again.

"What the _hell_ were you girls thinking?!" he demanded.

 _"Uh, that we'd gotten to the finals and that we weren't going to just give up at that point?"_ Zuikaku tried.

"Fi _nals?"_ he and a thoroughly steamed Admiral Collingwood said in unison.

 _"Yeah, Aquila, Surcouf, Akagi, and Graf were participating, too,"_ Ark Royal nervously answered.

Akagi? Akagi didn't look like-

"Son of a bitch, that's where the missing repair bucket went!"

 _"And I just got off the Admiralty chat, and Colombo and Hartmann are steaming mad because Aquila and Graf are in the same condition,"_ Collingwood added, a smirk playing over his face. _"Masson actually said she's sending you girls a box of chocolates each; she's apparently tired of Surcouf nearly sinking herself every time she sorties."  
_  
"Regardless, both of you will be heading back to base immediately, where you will face appropriate sanctions for this harebrained stunt," Goto picked up. "And you better hope that those sailors at Diego Garcia patched you up properly, because otherwise those wounds will need to be cleaned."

Both carriers flinched and then cut the feed, a chuckling Admiral Collingwood following a few seconds later, leaving Goto to slump back in his chair. Christ. Where did they get all these ideas?


	28. Rule 2108

**Rule 2108. While they appreciate the favor, you don't have to feed the Akizuki class every time you meet them.  
**  
 _Many months ago...  
_  
"It's terrible!"

Yura sighed and placed down her chopsticks as her sister Isuzu sobbed into her arms. Really, Nagara was supposed to be the overdramatic one. "Okay, I'll bite: what's terrible?"

"The Duckies aren't eating enough and they say they're full but they can't be full and I can't force them because they're sacrificing for Japan and-"

"Slow down!" Yura snapped, jabbing her chopsticks at her sister. "Okay, first of all, who the hell are the 'Duckies'? And why are you using an English term?"

Isuzu blinked, then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh! Right, sorry, I meant the Akizuki-class destroyers that were summoned recently."

"I do remember you getting assigned to lead them," Yura mused. "But that still doesn't explain the whole 'Ducky' thing."

"Well, the name use the 'dzu' sound, and then we ran into Kongo..."

"Say no more," Yura hastily replied. "And the food thing?"

"They eat rice, miso soup, and pickles," Isuzu groaned, plopping her head back on the table. "That's it. And definitely not enough rice, miso soup, and pickles, either. They're only a bit smaller than Yuubari and eat half as much! And when I try to get them to eat more, or at least eat something more filling, they refuse! They keep saying they want to let everyone else have their share!"

Yura raised a bushy eyebrow. "And have you tried telling them that the military, at least, has plenty of food?"

"Then they just turn it around to helping the civilians..." came the muffled reply.

Well. That was indeed a thorny problem. Yura glanced down at her own meal: a six-inch stack of tonkatsu liberally covered in sauce and with a four bowls of rice next to it. Oh, and another bowl for more sauce. Though if they were just eating rice, miso soup, and pickles...

"How are they still functioning, then?" she asked.

"They're eating the bare minimum to function off duty," Isuzu answered, still muffled. "They say they'll eat more once they're cleared to sortie..."

"But it probably still won't be enough," Yura finished, getting a slight nod. The light cruiser let a smug smirk spread over her face. "Really, sis, it's such a simple solution I'm amazed you didn't think of it. Put them on an Alaskan run, and get them eating in front of the Americans. They will pay Fedex or some other shipping company to fly food over if they have to."

Isuzu finally lifted her head up, glaring at Yura. "I don't think it's gonna be that easy."

~o~

 _'Holy shit it is that easy.'  
_  
Isuzu could feel a grin creeping over her face at the unabashed stares that the Americans of Bremerton were sending towards Akizuki, Teruzuki, and Hatsuzuki as they ate what the American shipgirls called a 'light snack', though much richer than what they ate in Japan by pure necessity. Valley Forge especially looked like she was about to dive into the kitchen and not come out until she could lavish the three destroyers with every comfort food dish she could make. Across from the Japanese destroyers the Mahan-class destroyer Drayton was eating her own meal, intently watching the trio.

All too soon, the Akizukis finished what was on their plates, placing down their utensils. And that was when Drayton struck.

"So, you guys gonna have seconds?" she asked.

"Ah, no, we don't want to impose-" Hatsuzuki tried, only for her traitorous stomach to growl. The destroyer glared down at the offending organ. "Et tu, fuel lines?"

"Still, Hatsuzuki's right," Teruzuki tried. "We don't want to-"

"Trust me, you're not imposing at all," Drayton assured them. The destroyer held up her fingers and then snapped them. "Valley Forge, do the thing!"

Suddenly, a dozen steaming pies, three full roast turkeys, and two massive tubs of gravy and mashed potatoes, respectively, appeared on the table. Next to Drayton, Valley Forge came to a halt, smiling beatifically and an apron suddenly covering her torso. "Eat up!" she beamed. "Eat until you can't eat any more!"

Teruzuki and Hatsuzuki shared dubious glances - while Akizuki picked up one of the pies and stuffed her face into it.

"Oh my Goooood... sooooo gooood..." she moaned, stick blueberry juice coating her cheeks.

"Trust me, America has plenty of food," Drayton stated.

Their willpower finally cracking, the other two members of the Akizuki class dove into the meal, euphoric smiles soon decorating their faces.

~o~

 _Present day:  
_  
"Mou, this is way too much!" Teruzuki complained as she stared up at the latest "care package" the American shipgirls had had flown over. It was, in fact, several hundred packages stacked twice their height above them. Boxes of cookies, crackers, cheeses, and cured meats were featured prominently, as well as refrigerated containers for fresher foods.

"I'll say," Suzutsuki agreed. "On the plus side, at least the battleships and carriers will be in for a treat tonight." The destroyer glanced over at her elder sister. "You know-"

"I told you, we're not selling this off," Teruzuki admonished. "Re-gifting is entirely fine if you can't use it yourself. But re _-selling_ a gift? That's just crass!"

For a moment, Suzutsuki hummed in thought. "Loveable miser crass, or just-"

"Just regular crass, yes," her elder sister sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Damn..." The two destroyers were silent for a moment longer before Suzutsuki spoke up again. "Honestly, I'm just glad Enterprise has stopped trying to force-feed us food every time she saw us. Not to mention that time Titanic and Olympic visited, or when White shows up..."

"Poor Akizuki," Teruzuki sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. "That was no way to find out that you can eat too much food! Especially food as good as White's burgers!"


	29. Rule 2115

**Rule 2115. Yuudachi and Inazuma, we're happy that you've managed to master your "Darker Side". Now would you** ** _please_** **stop using them in battle? You traumatize everyone you sortie with and the Abyssals take it as a challenge.**

Yuudachi gritted her teeth as she wrestled with an I-class destroyer, trying to pin it so she could shoot the damn thing. Around her, battle raged, destroyers swirling around each other, exchanging gunfire and torpedoes. And deep within her breast, she felt what she called The Nightmare of the Solomons baying for blood. A shove suppressed the thing again, and with a surge of strength she lifted the Abyssal up and then slammed it on her knee. Keening in pain, the Abyssal destroyer fell into the water more interested in flailing around than fighting, letting Yuudachi empty her guns in it.

Her opponent dead, Yuudachi could take in the battlefield - which in this case, meant tracking Inazuma as she dueled a Destroyer Princess. Blinking, the Shiratsuyu-class destroyer squinted and took a closer look. Was that-?

It was. Yuudachi paled and took a step back. The blonde destroyer had always wondered _how_ Inazuma generated her lightning, like just about everyone else who knew about it. Well... now she knew. She hadn't been expecting a _voidspawn portal_ with _blood-red eyes_ peeking out from the background. Nightmare of the Solomons or not, the sight was almost enough to get her to bolt.

Almost.

Because conspicuously absent from this picture were any actual voidspawn. Because Inazuma hadn't descended into mindless rage to tear apart her opponent with her bare hands. Because every lightning bolt was on point and burned another part of the panicking Princess' rigging away.

Inazuma's dark side was out in full, and she was _controlling it.  
_  
The fight didn't last long after that. Abyssals did, after all, have some vestigial survival instincts, the Princess throwing her remaining escorts at Inazuma so that she could flee. And so it was that, once they were all back on the pier in Yokosuka, Yuudachi fell to her knees and bowed her head before Inazuma. "Please! Teach me!"

"Hawawawawawhat?!" Inazuma yelped, flailing cutely.

"What are you doing?!" Ikazuchi and Shigure chimed in.

"Please!" Yuudachi repeated. "Teach me how to tame the Nightmare of the Solomons!"

Though the other two destroyers still looked confused, Inazuma's eyes widened in recognition. Kneeling down, she slowly pulled Yuudachi's head up by the chin and gave her a sunny smile.

"Sure!"

~o~

A couple weeks later, Yuudachi stared down that same Destroyer Princess, who was looking quite smug.

[Finally, a destroyer that _isn't_ hiding incredible abilities,] the Abyssal crowed. [This will be- wait, what are you doing?!]

Yuudachi was, in fact, crouched down on all fours, a spectral wolf come to life around her.

 **"You're not dealing with Yuudachi anymore,"** the destroyer growled, her usual voice (lovingly described by Enterprise as 'Japanese valley girl') dropping an octave, with no pois in sight. **"You're dealing with the Nightmare of the Solomons."**

And then, she pounced.

~o~

A couple weeks after that, Enterprise was enjoying a nice walk (for real this time) when she felt a sudden pressure on her, as if she was undergoing a two-g turn. Of course, everyone else was far worse off; even most of the shipgirls were pressed to the ground and foaming at the mouth.

Spinning on her heel, the carrier sprinted for the source of the spiritual pressure, passing more and more downed sailors and shipgirls. Soon, she found the source: Inazuma and an Allied Re-class glaring each other down, Yuudachi cowering behind Inazuma and looking so damn puppylike that she wanted to just pick her up and stroke her hair for days. Enterprise didn't, of course; not only would that be unprofessional, she was kinda distracted by the two in the stare-off.

Somehow, Inazuma was both standing in a massive black and purple void empty except for staring red eyes and standing _on_ the tarmac, while the Re-class seemed to have sprouted into a tentacle monster, arms and guns and mouths haphazardly stacked together with the main body still somehow extremely clear and solid.

Ah. That's what this was about.

"Pfft, amateurs," E scoffed, getting the attention of both combatants. "Lemme show ya how it's done."

Admiral Goto arrived five minutes later to find Yuudachi passed out and Inazuma and the Re-class both clutching the latter's tail, said tail looking just as terrified. The only other person still conscious for a mile was Enterprise, standing there looking remarkably smug.

"You let out the Grey Ghost again, didn't you," he groaned.

"Hey, these guys were the ones squishing everyone on base," Enterprise replied, jabbing a thumb at the cowering pair. "I just broke it up the fastest way I could."


	30. Rule 2116

**Rule 2116. Thanks to the clever folks at Aperture Science - Agricultural Research Division, O'Bannon's potatoes are now** ** _also_** **grenades.**

"So," O'Bannon said to the shamefaced Royal Navy destroyer in front of her. "What'd _you_ do?"

HMS Duchess fidgeted on her feet, unwilling to say anything.

"So, were you selling heroin to elementary school kids, or-"

Duchess' hand shot out, clamping over O'Bannon's smugly grinning mug. "Shut. Up!" she hissed. "If you must know, I mistook Captain Hartmann for a porter. Neither Bismarck nor Admiral Hartmann were happy with me. So, here I am." That last was accompanied by her spreading her arms wide. "So. What is my punishment?"

Still grinning, O'Bannon stood and beckoned her to follow. "C'mon."

British destroyer followed American into the kitchen, where an absolute mountain of potatoes sitting on the counter loomed ominously.

"Your punishment," O'Bannon explained, sweeping her hand over the pile. "Is to peel all these potatoes."

Duchess didn't reply, too busy staring open-mouthed at the pile, which was taller than her. Still grinning, her taskmaster retrieved a peeler and pressed it into her numb hands, before giving her what was supposed to be an encouraging pat on the back.

"Good luck!"

As she walked out the kitchen to Duchess' piteous wails, O'Bannon couldn't help but think she was forgetting something. Oh well. If it was that important, she'd remember it sooner or later. As she disappeared into the back of the pub to restock her hard liquors, she passed by a box that might have saved a lot of grief had she noticed it; a box that read _Aperture Science_ on it in bright red letters.

~o~

An hour later found Duchess still peeling potatoes, occasionally pausing to shake her aching, well-pruned hands, and grumbling constantly under her breath. _What_ she was grumbling is not fit to reprint, but the general gist was "How dare these ignorant peasants force me to do manual labor!". Generally the destroyer wasn't this bad about the whole classism thing, but peeling fifty potatoes and barely even making a dent in the massive stack still to go will do that to a person.

Grabbing another potato, she sighed at the large eye at one end, and set about to peeling it off. This one, though, was stubborn, and Duchess found herself unable to get it out with the peeler. Placing the peeler down, she retrieved a large kitchen knife and lopped off the end of the potato, swapping back to the peeler to get at the rest of the skin.

Only one strip had fallen into the sink when something happened.

*SPUDOW!*

*SPU-SPU-SPU-SPU-SPUDOW!*

The noise, not to mention the sudden shaking of the building, caught the attention of O'Bannon, who nearly flung herself through the wall in her haste to get into the kitchen. "Duchess, are you-!" The sight she was confronted with, though, brought the destroyer up short.

Duchess stood in a sea of scorched mashed potato, a peeler in one hand and scorch marks in the other, more scorch marks decorating her face. The pile of potatoes was now a coating of carbon and more mashed potato, splattered over the walls and ceiling.

After a long moment of silence, both destroyers gathered enough wits about them to ask "What the fuck happened here?!" simultaneously. O'Bannon promptly threw Duchess an incredulous look.

"You don't know what happened?!" she demanded. "You were right there!"

"All I know is that I was peeling a potato and suddenly it exploded!" Duchess snapped back, gesticulating wildly. "What the _fuck_ kind of potatoes are you serving?!"

"Normal potatoes, you-!" O'Bannon began, only to pause as something occurred to her. "Did the exploding potato have, by any chance, a prominent and really stubborn eye?"

"Yeah? What does that have to do with anything?"

A slap echoed through the kitchen as O'Bannon put her hand to her face. "Aw, dammit. I must have mixed some of my new potato grenades in with the regular spuds."

"Your _what?"  
_  
"Long story," O'Bannon sighed. "The point is, it's not your fault, it's mine."

"Oh." Duchess blinked a few times before grinning. "So am I done with my punishment?"

"No. Clean this mess up first."

"Awwww!"


	31. Rule 2117

**Rule 2117: Do** ** _NOT TOUCH_** **Hawaii's melee weapons with out her permission or with her knowing it.**

"Auuu..." Honolulu groaned as she looked over the the web page she was on, yet another game bundle taunting her across the net. In another window sitting off on her second screen, her bank account helpfully informed her how much money she had: namely, by a picture of a dusty dime and three grimy, battered pennies sitting in a cobwebbed, empty bank vault. "Stupid game bundles... stupid admiralty, locking up my pay... _I'm_ not going to buy a small country by accident..." Sighing, she closed the window for her bank account and leaned back in her chair, thinking. "I need money... where can I get money..."

After several minutes wracking her brain for an idea, a devious grin spread over her face. "Yeah, that might work," she mused. "She's got tons of the things; I'm sure she won't mind if I sell a few and take a finder's fee."

~o~

"No."

Honolulu slumped over at the blunt answer. "But whhhhhyyyy?" she whined.

"I don't expect an Oahu city slicker like you to understand," Hawaii replied, voice frosty. "But maybe this will work: they're mine, I made them, and I say so. This conversation is over."

And with that, she slammed the door in Honolulu's face.

The cruiser spent a second blinking in place, before sighing and shrugging. "Well, that went about as well as could be expected." Turning away from the door, she let an eager smirk cross her face. "Time for plan B, then."

~o~

Later that night, a dark, shadowy figure crept towards the on-base storage units, used for personal effects the men and shipgirls there didn't want to keep in their rooms, whether for security reasons or simple lack of space. The figure made a beeline for one specific storage unit, kept shut by an ordinary, if somewhat complex, padlock. Sadly, it was no match for the intruder, who simply snapped the hard steel like it was candy.

Slowly and quietly, the intruder slid the door up, revealing a pod stacked high with weapons. Very odd weapons. Weapons made of wood and armed with shark's teeth or swordfish bills. Weapons wielded by the Hawaiian warriors of old, and worth a very pretty penny on the collector's market despite being replicas.

"Yesssss..." Honolulu breathed, drool staining her mask as she walked up to the nearest shark's teeth club and ran her hands over it. "I have you now, my pretty."

And then, suddenly, the lights came on.

Honolulu froze, especially when Hawaii spoke up behind her. "I had a feeling," the large cruiser said, the sound of metal scraping over concrete sounding out behind her. "That you would try something like this. But really, breaking the lock like this? I would have found it in the morning, and then you would have been the first suspect. Sloppy."

 _'I didn't even think of that!'_ the cruiser mentally wailed, the sweat soaking into her sneaking outfit redoubling. _'Shit, panicking, can't think. Act on instinct.'  
_  
Acting on instinct, Honolulu whirled around and dove at Hawaii, fist reared back.

 _'Instincts bad.'  
_  
Her face grim, Hawaii raised one clawed hand and whispered a word.

"-meha."

FWOOOSH!

~o~

Cold salt water spray woke Honolulu from her slumber, and she sat bolt upright - and promptly nearly fell out of the motorboat she was in. The first thing she noticed besides that was that her sneaking outfit had been replaced by a wetsuit. "Wha-"

"Ah, good, you're awake!"

The light cruiser whirled around to find Hawaii at the rudder, grinning and wearing an orange life vest over shorts and a t-shirt.

"I'll cut to the chase. Since you decided to steal from me, I figure you helping me build up my stock would be the best punishment," the large cruiser explained. "As such, you're here to help me get parts!"

"Parts?" Honolulu repeated in confusion. "What kind of-" Her eyes widened as realization hit her. "You want me to collect sharks' teeth?!"

"Yup!" Hawaii said, before reaching down and, in one fluid motion, picking up a bucket of chum and dousing her with it. "Don't worry, you'll be fine!" And with that, she kicked Honolulu into the water.

The sharks weren't long in coming, mostly oceanic whitetips. Hawaii, and in fact most shipgirls, had little love for the creatures, and regulation of their fishing was still stalled in bureaucracy, unlike many other varieties. These were the sharks that ate shipwrecked sailors; in her opinion, they could all die.

Thus, seeing Honolulu punch out the damn things as they tried and failed to get purchase on her armored body was quite cathartic on multiple levels.


	32. Rule 2125

**Rule 2125. Whoever told the girls that if they laid out a snare trap they could catch the Easter Bunny and thus get more sweets is in hilarious amounts of trouble. At least as soon as all the visiting dignitaries have been freed from the traps.**

In San Diego, a door to a conference room opened, sending Central Princess, Iowa, and Wonda staggering out. All three proceeded to the nearest bench and collapsed onto it, the American negotiation team streaming out looking fit as a fiddle.

"How do they do that?" Iowa whined cutely.

[I will admit this: you humans have raised tedious negotiation to an art form,] Wonda tiredly remarked.

The Central Princess just groaned and whacked her head against the wall.

After several minutes lying in a small cuddlepile and regaining her strength, Iowa put forth a suggestion. "Hey, why don't we go check out the garden?"

[You have a garden?] Wonda said in surprise.

[But we go visit nature all the time back on Hawaii,] Central Princess added.

"Yeah, but that's tropical and stuff," Iowa replied, standing after easing herself out from under Central Princess' arm. "California gardens are different, especially this one. C'mon!"

Glancing at each other, the two Abyssals shrugged and followed Iowa as she skipped down the hall. After several minutes of confusing twists and turns, Iowa threw open a door and led her companions out onto a grass lawn, interspersed with hardy low-water plants and a number of small oak trees, not to mention several aesthetically pleasing rocks. And, with all the wildflowers scattered about, it was quite beautiful.

And sitting right in the center of several obvious dug pits was what appeared to be the entire set of Windows-era _Touhou_ games. It was very obviously a trap of some kind.

[Seriously?] Central Princess spat. [Who would be stupid enough to-]

[YAUGH!]

Central Princess blinked as Wonda fell into one of the holes, Iowa slapping her hand to her face next to her, and then her face fell into sour resignation. [My best negotiator, everyone. A gullible weeb.] She glanced over at the prize. [Though I have to admit, it is one tempting prize. Iowa, honey, what are the odds of other traps?]

"Preeeetty low," the battleship replied. "This isn't the Taffies' style, and they're the only ones devious enough to try a double-bluff."

[Alrighty then,] Central Princess declared, walking up to the holes and edging along one of the gaps. She had gone about halfway when suddenly a net sprang from under the grass and yanked her up. [What the- hey!] Tugging at the ropes, they didn't tear. [Shit... fucking MSSB!]

"What's that even attached to?" Iowa wondered, though looking for a source made her head hurt after a few seconds. "Never mind. Hang tight, you two, I'll be right back!" The battleship turned around, making for the base building - and then, with a loud yelp, she put her foot through a camouflaged covering over _another_ pitfall. "MOTHERFUCKER!"

For several seconds, nobody said anything. [Uh, guys?] Wonda finally spoke up. [Could I get a little-?]

[Shut up, Wonda.]/"Shut up, Wonda."

Several minutes then passed, the trio stewing in their confinement, and then the door opened. Central Princess was the only one who saw, and she couldn't help a grin at the sight.

"Let go of me already!" Leutze shouted as she struggled to break free of San Juan's grip.

"No way," the cruiser replied. "Bad enough you set out traps for the Easter Bunny to try and get more chocolate, I'm not letting you get the chance to cover things up."

"But Hancock told me about that! Why am I getting punished and she isn't?!"

"Oh, trust me, Hancock will get her-" Both shipgirls froze, Central Princess waving at them.

[Hey. Mind letting me down?]

"Hancock will _definitely_ get hers," San Juan growled.


	33. Rule 2126

**Rule 2126. Don't bring up failed convoys around the then protectors. Some of them haven't dealt well with those failures.  
**  
Japanese destroyers, Michishio decided as she ran over memories of the trip to the classroom she currently sat in, were not built for the North Atlantic. Why her Admiral had decided it would be a good idea to send her and not only her sisters but a number of Kageros to Britain for ASW training was beyond her. The Canadians were teaching them just fine back in the Pacific, thank you very much!

Still, for all that the trip there had been awful and full of sea spray to the face, the lessons were incredibly informative. The Canadian destroyers had mostly contented themselves with _ASW_ tactics, while the Brits were more focused on _convoy_ tactics, and hadn't it been a surprise to find that those two were actually very different subjects. It was extremely informative, and already the destroyer was comparing what she was learning to what not only her sisters but many other destroyers had said about the war years.

It was kind of depressing, so she stopped thinking about it.

Turning her attention back to the lecture, a stray thought crossed her mind. The lessons were great, obviously, but they were missing something. Michishio raised her hand, the instructor, HMS Achates quickly pointing at her. "Yes, Michishio?"

"What about if the convoy doesn't go through?" she asked. "I mean, we've been focusing on what to do to make it go through..."

"Did someone say something about convoy failures?!"

Every Japanese destroyer in the room jumped in their seats as the door flew open and four shipgirls tromped in. Achates, meanwhile, slapped her hand to her forehead and groaned "Bloody hell, not those four..."

"Pedestal was not a convoy failure!" Eagle shouted, Kuroshio leaning back from the carrier. "Yeah, only one ship got through, and I got sunk, but that ship saved Malta! And Malta saved the war!"

"Good for you...?"

"Fucking spaghettis!" Cleopatra roared to no one in particular. "Fucking Littorio! And fucking dive bombers! We go to all that work, and you _fucking blow up the ships in harbor?!_ _ **I will devour your souls and rape your children!"  
**_  
"We can still turn around again, right?!" Griffin pleaded to... well, the heavens. "A submarine'll get that damn battleship! Or-Or aircraft! Something! There must be something that'll let us turn around!"

"I am a failure as a battleship!" Duke of York wailed, before slumping against a wall.

As the Japanese shipgirls stared - Cleopatra pacing and raging, Eagle yelling at anyone in earshot, Griffin kneeling and praying, and Duke of York in a heap against a wall - Achates continued on with the lesson. "As you can see, not only do shipgirls respond to failed convoys differently, they tend to go through five stages as they work through things. The first is denial."

"Nope, definitely not a failed convoy!" Eagle denied very loudly.

"The second is anger."

"Cleopatra smash, arrrrrrgh!"

"The third is bargaining!"

"I'LL TAKE A RANDOM STORM AT THIS POINT!"

"Then fourth is depression."

"I want to die..."

"And then finally, acceptance."

At those words, Yukikaze stood and walked between Griffin and Duke of York, stroking their backs and humming soothingly. "There, there, girls, buck up. I ended all my wartime escorts in sadness and failure. You get used to it."

"NEVER!" Cleopatra declared, jabbing a finger at Yukikaze. "I will never let go of this white-hot rage I feel! Fuck, if they didn't have that fucking battleship we would've gotten the convoy past those stupid heavy cruisers!"

At that instant, in a move that confirms the universe is not only listening, but also has a sociopathic sense of humor, Littorio poked her head in the classroom. "I heard my name?"

"I WILL RIP OUT YOUR EYES AND PISS ON YOUR DYING BRAIN, LITTORIO!" Cleopatra shrieked, before collapsing to the ground, foaming at the mouth. The Italian battleship, for her part, just raised an eyebrow.

"O-kaaaaaay..."


	34. Rule 2130

**Rule 2130. Whoever thought it'd be fun to organize a 'Taco Bell Night' for the fairy crews, the submariners want a** ** _word_** **with you. Due to what happened, 4 of the submarine girls themselves are at medical with every symptom of toxic shock syndrome.  
**  
SS Marcus Daly sighed as most of the unattended fairies of San Diego conferred in a massive huddle, notes passing through and whispers drifting out. How she'd been roped into being the primary babysitter for off-duty fairies was something she was never able to figure out, but she liked to think she did a good job most of the time keeping them out of trouble.

The rest of that time was almost always preceded by a conference such as this; the one exception involved her apparently implying that one of the fairies had an ancestry rich in species diversity, said fairy immediately taking dire offense to that. To this day, Marcus Daly _still_ didn't know how said fairy had gotten _that_ from what she'd said, nor how she'd done _that_ with a fairy-sized slide rule.

And so it was with mounting dread in the pit of her stomach that the Liberty ship watched the fairies deliberate. After a few minutes, they nodded in unison and turned around, one of them stepping forward and pressing a sheet of paper towards her. "Hey!"

Gingerly taking the sheet, Daly retrieved a magnifying glass and examined it. "A Taco Bell night?" she read off the paper. "You sure about that?"

"Hey!" the crowd barked.

Shrugging, Daly pulled her tablet and keyed up an order. Never stop your enemy from making a mistake, as they say, and she certainly had a very adversarial relationship with the fairies she watched. "So, who's going to pay for this?" she asked.

At once, the fairies all held up bills, fives and tens and twenties.

"That works."

Tapping the order button, she filled her shopping cart with every Taco Bell product imaginable - and also made sure to make them as spicy as possible, which the fairies noticed and cheered on. Fools! Soon, the food was ordered and on its way, and Daly was making plans to drop by the bank to get all this cash deposited. All she had to do now was sit back and watch the carnage.

~o~

 _'When I wanted to watch the carnage, I wasn't expecting this!'  
_  
'This' was four submarines sitting in the docks, Medusa looking over them. Beside her, Albacore was glaring daggers at her, and Admiral Holloway was looking none too pleased himself. Still, both restrained themselves, at least until Medusa walked up to them.

"They're exhibiting every sign of toxic shock syndrome," she reported. "Which I honestly wasn't sure shipgirls _could_ get."

"We submarines are a bit more _delicate_ internally than surface ships," Albacore growled. "Still hard, though. You'd need to flood the interiors with chlorine gas or something to pull that off."

Submarine and admiral turned their gaze on Marcus Daly, and she folded like a freshly-dried sheet. "Alright, they asked for a Taco Bell night and I fucking delivered! Happy?!"

"Medusa, would the crew's heads overflowing allow water to come in contact with the battery pack?" Admiral Holloway asked, not breaking the stare.

"Yes?" the repair ship hedged. "It'd have to be one heck of an overflow, though."

"Taco Bell is a harsh mistress..." Albacore intoned.


	35. Rule 2134

**Rule 2134. Shipgirls are not allowed to tow people who want to waterski.  
**  
"Are you sure this is a good idea, big sis?" Kiyokaze nervously asked as she took in the scene. Namely, a man tying a rope to Shimakaze, the other end terminating in a crossbar that the destroyer was holding. And sitting in the water was a man in a life jacket and skis. Yes, readers, this man wanted to waterski behind Shimakaze.

"Eh, probably not, but look how much he paid me!" Holding up a thick stack of 10,000-yen bills, the destroyer flipped through them, drool leaking from her mouth. "Eheheheheheh... besides, they signed the waiver. Anything goes wrong, it's their fight. Isn't that right, boys?"

"Yes, ma'am!" both men barked.

"W-We shouldn't do this," Kiyokaze stammered, turning towards her last two sisters. "C'mon, girls, back me up!"

"Meh, I wanna see a crash. Might be interesting," Ōkaze shrugged.

"- and then there are a ton of Australians who do it and that's weird 'cause it's a desert country and there isn't that much water but maybe they do it at sea but that's not a good idea 'cause of sharks and crocodiles and jellyfish and the salt gets everywhere and it chafes and that sucks and then you gotta go see-"

Tuning out Soyokaze's blathering, Kiyokaze sighed and resigned herself to the impending disaster. Shimakaze, meanwhile, with the tow rope now securely fastened, jumped down into the water and tossed the handle to the skier.

"Hit it!" the man shouted.

Shimakaze did just that, her boilers pumping steam into her turbines. In minutes she'd reached her cruising speed of eighteen knots, already a good speed for waterskiing, and the skier was whooping and hollering and overall having a great time. But one did not hook up a tow rope to Shimakaze just to go at _cruising speed_. She continued to pick up steam, soon crossing twenty knots, then twenty-five, the skier skating back and forth on the water. At thirty knots it occurred to Kiyokaze that it was a good thing they were in Tokyo Bay, otherwise the waves would have ruined everything. And just as Shimakaze and her tug crested thirty-five knots, everyone realized the cloud to _that_ silver lining.

Namely, a cargo ship appearing out of nowhere and cutting off her sister's course.

"Oh shit!" Shimakaze yelped, slamming on the brakes. Of course, even for shipgirls, going from thirty-five knots to zero takes time and distance. Despite having a good hundred yards before her and the ship, the destroyer still only skidded to a halt with a couple yards to spare.

CLANG!

The skier was less fortunate, the sudden stop doing very little for his own momentum, which carried him forward into a feet-first collision with Shimakaze's back. Stoppable force met immovable object, with the result that the skier flipped ass over teakettle before slamming face-first into the side of the ship.

"Shit..." Shimakaze spat as the skier peeled off the hull, leaving behind a trail of blood.

Back on the pier, while the skier's buddy gaped in astonishment, Shimakaze's sisters had three very different reactions. Kiyokaze sighed and began dialing for a medic on her phone. Soyokaze was muttering under her breath about the physics involved. And Ōkaze?

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" she roared with laughter, rolling around on her back. "Oh God that was even better than I expected!"


	36. Rule 2136

**Rule 2136. You cannot switch ship class or type by growing up. Stop telling the destroyers otherwise.**

DING-DONG!

Musashi looked up from the manga she was reading at the ringing of the doorbell, and stood up to go answer the door. Standing there were Enterprise and Yamato, dressed in formal clothes and looking rather blissful.

"Date went well, I take it?"

"Yup..." E breathed dreamily.

"Yoshino didn't cause you too much trouble, I hope?" Yamato cut in.

"Eh, nothing I couldn't handle," Musashi assured her sister, before suddenly shifting to sheepish. "Just, uh, you've got a new hole in the kitchen wall and I don't know where you keep any repair materials and-"

"It's fine, it's fine," Yamato airily replied. "I've lost track of the number of holes she's put in the walls."

"More importantly, could you do something about that?" Enterprise cut in, her thumb pointing over her shoulder. "It's been following us all day for some reason."

Leaning over E's head, Musashi noted Kiyoshimo watching them - and doing an absolutely terrible job of hiding herself, a third of her face covered by a corner and the rest of her body fully visible. The destroyer, upon seeing Musashi staring at her, let out an adorable squeak, blushed, and bolted around the corner.

Sighing, the battleship, after a hasty, distracted goodbye to the lovebirds, went after Kiyoshimo. She didn't have to look for long; Kiyoshimo almost immediately tried to leap on her, shouting "Celestial Tree Sloth Attack!" Her face flatter than a pancake, Musashi caught the destroyer by the arms, halting her momentum in a second.

"You're not in trouble, y'know," Musashi remarked. "But I would like to know why you were following Sis and E."

Kiyoshimo froze, her legs reared back to kick, and then relaxed, though she also looked shamefacedly away. "I... wanted to see what kind of shipgirl Yoshino was."

One snowy eyebrow rose. "And why would you want to do that? For that matter, why would you assume she's even a shipgirl in the first place?"

"Both her parents are shipgirls, duh," Kiyoshimo replied. "As for the type, well... I heard from Arashi who heard it from Miyuki who heard it from Kasumi that destroyers change ship types as they get older. So if Yoshino was a destroyer-"

"Then the theory gains support, because no way a carrier and a battleship would make a destroyer," Musashi finished. "And you're hoping you'd become a battleship."

"Uh-huh!" the destroyer nodded.

Sighing, Musashi placed the destroyer down. "Well, as long as it keeps you out of trouble." At those words, Kiyoshimo's mouth scrunched up and she pointedly looked away. Hand, meet face. "What did you do?"

" _I_ did nothing!" Kiyoshimo protested. "Kamikaze, on the other hand, miiiiight have decided to go pester the Yuubaris about an age-changing device. She said something about changing class...?"

BOOM!

Both shipgirls looked up to see a plume of smoke rising above the distant labs. A brown and pink speck readily identifiable as Kamikaze could be seen heading towards them, a wordless scream dopplering.

"Y'think she's gonna reach us?" Kiyoshimo wondered.

"Yeah, probably," Musashi answered. "I know my ballistics."

Sure enough, as Kamikaze came screaming in closer, it became clear that she was going to slam into the ground just a few feet from them - or even hit one of them. The flying destroyer didn't miss this either, and she called out "Kiyoshimo, catch me!"

Very deliberately, Kiyoshimo sidestepped Kamikaze's trajectory, leaving her to smack face-first into the concrete. A loud "AND STAY OUT!" drifted over from the labs.

"I'll give it time," Kiyoshimo decided.

"Good idea."

"F'ck you..."


	37. Rule 2138

**Rule 2138. Oboro, we don't care how you got them, the crabs go back in the ocean. You can't keep them as pets.**

Oboro hummed a tune to herself as she lifted off the roof of the terrarium for her pet crab, Kani. Reaching in, she let the crustacean climb onto her hand and up her arm onto her shoulder. "Hey, Kani," she crooned, reaching over to stroke the crab's shell with her finger. "Kani Kani Kani Kani-"

Suddenly, the crab fell over, twitched once, and then was still.

"Kani?" Voice and hands alike trembling, Oboro retrieved her pet crab from her shoulder, holding it up to her eyes. It didn't move. Eyes tearing up, Oboro bolted out of the room, screaming, "Kani! Noooooo! Akashiiiiiii!"

Sazanami, who had been sitting at her computer with headphones on the whole time, just stared after her sister before shrugging and going back to her browsing.

~o~

"It's dead," Akashi bluntly pronounced after three seconds of examination.

"W-What?" Oboro breathed, her eyes glistening again with tears.

"He's passed on!" Akashi declared, frowning at the confused grief on the destroyer's face. "This crab is no more!" Still that look of confusion. "He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't brought him to me, he'd be pushing up daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the fucking choir invisible! THIS IS AN EX-CRAB!" Panting slightly from the rant, Akashi let a smile steal across her face. "Ah, I've always wanted to do that."

"Bueeeeeh!"

"Knew I was forgetting something..." Akashi muttered as the waterworks began again, mentally slapping herself. Sighing, she reached out and pulled the sobbing Oboro into a hug. "I'm sorry..."

After several minutes of crying (and a wet shirt), Oboro's sobs quieted down to wet sniffles, and Akashi pulled away a bit, reaching for a box of tissues in the process. "Feel a little better?"

"A little..."

"Again, I'm sorry about the... er, monologue."

"S'okay," the destroyer muttered. "I'm gonna miss him. Miss him already..."

"Maybe you could find a new crab to take care of?" Akashi suggested.

Instantly, Oboro brightened up. "Yeah, great idea, Akashi!" Humming, she placed her chin in her hand and a look of intense thought came over her. After several minutes, Akashi leaned over and was about to say something when the destroyer turned and sprinted out the door.

"Huh, that was weird," the repair ship muttered, before shrugging and going back to the inventory check Oboro had interrupted.

~o~

"Ushio!" Oboro declared as she skidded to a halt in front of her sister's doorway. "I need a huuuuuge favor from you!"

Sighing, Ushio placed down her manga. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Oboro told her.

She was right. She didn't like it.

"You owe me big time," Ushio stated, doing her best glare.

"So you'll do it?"

A sigh. "Yes..."

~o~

"Hey, Iku!"

The submarine in question turned around, blinking at the sight of Oboro actually running up to her. "Yes~?" she asked, injecting a bit of sultriness into her voice. The destroyer, naturally, completely missed it.

"Hey, I need you to do me a favor," she said, rummaging in her pocket for something. "And since I know you should pay for things like this... here!" Pulling an envelope out, Oboro handed it out.

The submarine wasted no time in taking it and tearing it open, her eyes widening at the contents: several cheesecake photos of a grumpy-looking Ushio. Immediately, she began looking around, as if the Fun Police would jump out of the walls or something. "You'll never take me-!"

"Hey, hey, don't worry, I'm not trying to trap you or anything!" Oboro assured her. "This was gotten completely aboveboard."

Iku grinned at that. "Oh, Ushio's going to take you to the cleaners once she calls in _that_ favor," she remarked, leading Oboro to slump despondently. "But what the hell, I should at least help you out. What do you need from me?"

"I need crabs," was the answer. "As many different kinds of crabs as you can find."

~o~

Whatever Akagi planned to be doing today, watching Sazanami attempting to drag Oboro out of her room, the latter clutching an extra-large aquarium/terrarium hybrid full of all kinds of crabs was not it.

"This'd all be over if you'd just pick a crab to keep!" Sazanami snapped.

"Noooooo... my precioussss..." Oboro hissed.

Akagi listened with half an ear as she examined the crabs in the tanks. A dungeness, an Alaskan King Crab, a spider crab... hastily wiping away some drool, she shoved the thought down. Maybe she could get some of those crabs cooked later, but first she needed someone to pry them out of Oboro's hands first. Fubuki, probably.


	38. Rule 2140

**Rule 2140. The Kanmusu Wrestling Federation is hereby dissolved. We need you girls fighting Abyssals, not each other.**

Bogue took in a deep breath, and then released it, barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

"Nervous?" Ranger asked, concerned.

"A little," the escort carrier replied. "I didn't expect that we'd be in the first match." She then scowled down at her outfit. "I'm more salty about the outfits. Who designed these?!"

Both carriers were wearing... basically leotards with heavy boots and kneeguards. Ranger's was white with a thick central vertical strip in blue, a white star emblazoned on her chest, while Bogue's was battleship grey with a white patch on her chest and a stripe of the same color around her midriff. They were also very tight and cut decidedly high on the hips.

"Seriously..." Bogue muttered, tugging at the butt of her outfit. "I'm going to get a wedgie in this thing, I swear."

Any further complaining was ended by the younger Laffey poking her head down the tunnel. "It's time, you guys," she announced.

Nodding, Bogue and Ranger put on their game faces and strode out of the tunnel with all the confidence they could muster.

 **"IN THE RED CORNER..."** the thundering voice of South Dakota declared. **"WE HAVE... FLIGHT DECK LOVE!"  
**  
"Ugh, I still say we should have gone with a different name," Ranger grumbled as they clambered up onto the ring to the cheers of the crowd.

"And as I said back then: if you have anything better, I'd be glad to hear it," Bogue shot back.

 **"AND IN THE BLUE CORNER, WE HAVE THEIR OPPONENTS... SMOL BUT SWOLL!"  
**  
"Wait, what?"

Out of the other side of the hall, two destroyer-sized figures leapt up, flipped over, and landed crouched on the ropes. Both had distinctly Italian features, with curly black hair. Both wore what appeared to be Roman tunics, sleeveless and cut short over a plain white leotard visible under the 'skirts'.

"That's Pompeo Magno and Scipione Africano," Bogue whispered to her partner. "Capitani Romani class. It's a fitting name for them."

"I didn't think any foreign shipgirls were participating," Ranger remarked. "Strategy?"

"Grapples and locks. We can't let them use their strength."

"So our standard strategy, then."

As Scipione Africano climbed into the ring, everything else fell away. The crowd, the announcers above, even Ranger. Only her opponent and the referee existed. Bogue climbed into the ring, staring at her opponent's cocky smirk, sizing her up.

"Begin!"

Scipione blurred from sight, and Bogue only had to time to think _'She's fa-'_ before the Italian's fist was streaking towards her face, and then... blackness.

~o~

Some time later, Bogue blinked awake, quickly sitting up and taking in the scene. Ranger and Pompeo Magno were grappling in the ring - and her partner was losing. That her body was a mess of bruises made this unsurprising. What was surprising, though, was the complete absence of Scipione Africano. She wasn't in the ring, obviously, that would be illegal, but she wasn't on the sidelines, either. Scanning about the arena didn't reveal anything, so where...?

Plaster, or maybe concrete dust, drifted onto the ring, and the escort carrier looked up to see her opponent embedded in the ceiling. She let out a low whistle. "Nice job, Ranger." Turning back to the fight, she grinned, hopping over the ropes and then pressing herself against them. "Now let me return the favor. Dynamic-!"

The fight twisted around, the two combatants now presenting their sides to Bogue.

"Entry!"

Pushing off the elastic ropes, Bogue flew towards the Italian, her boots colliding side-on with Pompeo's head and sending her flying into the wall.

"'Bout time you woke up again," Ranger panted, holding up her hand. Now that she was closer, Bogue could see that her partner was bleeding in many spots, and completely exhausted. "Tag..." The instant Bogue tapped her hand, she collapsed into a heap on the mat. "I'm out."

"Thank you, Ranger," Bogue replied, turning her attention back to Pompeo, who was dizzily stomping back to the ring. "Yo, Pizza!"

"It's Pompeo!" the Italian snapped.

"Too hard, gonna stick with pizza," was the dismissive reply.

"You-!" Pompeo growled in frustration, before diving at Bogue. The escort carrier swayed around the sloppy attack, grasping her opponent's right arm, and then fell down, pulling her opponent with her. Neither got far before Bogue kicked both her feet up and into Pompeo's gut, even as she continued to pull the Italian down by her arm.

The choked gasp from Pompeo was quite gratifying, but Bogue wasn't done. Rolling out from under her opponent, she flipped onto Pompeo's back, driving her knees into her spine and pulling the still-held arm back, the escort carrier's other arm, wrapping around the Italian's neck.

"YAAAUGH!"

It was quite the painful position.

"Do you yiel-" Bogue began to whisper, only for Pompeo to drive her hand into the mat and slowly, somehow, lift herself up.

"I... am not... losing... to a mere... jeep carrier..." she panted. Then she blinked as the weight on her back vanished. "Eh?"

Arms wrapped around Pompeo's waist, a pair of boots filling her vision. With a roar of exertion, Bogue executed a textbook German suplex, slamming her opponent through the mat and into the concrete below head-first. This time, she didn't get up.

"... 3!" Atlanta called out, grasping Bogue's hand and raising it. "The winners are Flight Deck Love!"

The crowd cheered, Bogue grinned-

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE?!"

And then a very unamused Admiral Briggs stormed in. All eyes locked on him as he looked around: the massive crowds, the announcers, Bogue standing in the ring next to Atlanta, Scipione stuck in the ceiling, Ranger being tended to by a medical team, and Pompeo still embedded into the ring like a colossal carrot.

"Right, shut it down," he ordered. "Shut it all down so I can figure _who I need to punish."_


	39. Rule 2142

**Rule 2142. This really shouldn't be said, but don't diss Captain America, Superman, or Batman in front of the American ship girls.**

"Honestly, though, Paperinik's a lot better than Batman."

You could have heard a feather drop in the silence that followed, every eye in the cafeteria turning towards where French destroyers Mogador and Volta sat, the former looking confused. "What? What'd I say?"

"Oh, sis..." Volta sighed, running her hand down her face.

One of the fleet destroyers present stood up on her table, jabbing a finger at Mogador. "Heresy!" she barked. "Burn the heretic for her crimes!" Another destroyer promptly yanked her down with a hissed "Behave!"

"Yes, settle down, everyone," New York declared before anyone else could speak up. "After all, debating the merits of a talking duck in spandex versus an insane man in a bat suit is a little silly, don't you think? I think we can all agree on the true best superheroes, like Captain America."

There were a lot of embarrassed blushes and low mutters at that, but the point was made. And then Mogador decided to stir the pot again.

"Ugh, Captain America is even worse," the French destroyer spat. "Goddamn jingoistic asshole..."

Silence, once again, but not really silence. If you were paying attention, you could feel electricity crackling in the air, and then hear it. And Volta was paying attention.

"I am in no way affiliated with this person or their opinions," she said, standing up and then sprinting away from a confused Mogador. And a good thing, too, because shortly thereafter the shouting started.

"ASSHOLE?!"

 _"JINGOISTIC?!"_

"Ultimate Cap is a sin against the name and we're glad he got retconned out of existence!"

"BURN THE HERETIC!" New York declared, suddenly wearing some sort of star-spangled priestly garments.

Mogador, her face twisted in panic, backed up from the crowd, only to hit concrete. She glanced left; pissed off Oklahoma leading a pack of DEs. She glanced right; every escort carrier on base. She gulped audibly.

"Oh, this is gonna _suck..."_

~o~

"I'm late, I'm late!" Wasp wailed as she sprinted for the cafeteria. The carrier had whiled away the morning reading and playing video games, only stopping when her stomach protested. Further time was lost when she forgot to get dressed and nearly exited the building completely nude. And the worst part...

"Those fried egg sandwiches are totally gonna be gone by the time I get there!" she wailed.

Skidding around a corner, she planted a foot - and immediately came to a halt. Passing in front of her was every other shipgirl on base bearing torches and pitchforks and dressed in star-spangled robes. Several carried a bound, gagged, and thoroughly terrified Mogador above their heads. They weren't saying anything, their general anger bleeding into a loud roar.

The procession didn't take long to pass, and after several minutes just staring after it Wasp shrugged and turned towards the mess again. "More for me!" she chirped.


	40. Rule 2143

**Rule 2143. "I'm gonna wreck it!" is not a battle cry. It just draws attention to you specifically.  
**  
The time is come. The fleets of humanity were moving on one of the bastions of Abyssaldom: the Island Siege Empress, firmly ensconced on Malta. France had recalled her Atlantic forces; Britain had reinforced Force H; and even the Americans had come to join the party. Backing up the shipgirls were over a hundred conventional steel hulls and nearly a thousand aircraft, tankers, EW, and strike fighters. This mighty force, one of the greatest yet assembled, was ready to move out!

Well, except for one slight problem.

"Can someone tell me why the core of our strike force is _out cold on the ground?!"_ Richelieu growled, staring down at Dunkerque and Strasbourg lying on the ground, unconscious and heavily bruised.

"Uh, Miss Richelieu, we're still intact..." Mogador pointed out, the rest of the escorts of France's Atlantic Fleet nodding along.

"Shut up or I'll throw you back to the Americans," Richelieu stated, a spike of vindictive glee running through her at the terrified yelp Mogador let out. "Now, where were we?"

"Apologizing for knocking out Dunkerque and Strasbourg, obviously," Warspite answered, bowing slightly. "I assure you, it was an entirely reflexive action."

"Those plebeians should have minded their tongues lest someone take entirely justified offense," Queen Elizabeth added, sniffing haughtily.

"Yeah, and those stupid baguettes also shouldn't have said what they said if they didn't want to get punched!" Valiant finished off, before giving off a defensive "What?" at the sidelong, incredulous glance Queen Elizabeth sent her way.

"Yeah, well, great job, you guys," Richelieu snarked. "Your 'reflexive response' just scuppered the key to our plan." She paused, humming thoughtfully. "Out of curiosity, what _did_ they say?"

Warspite told her.

Richelieu glared down at the prone battleships and gave Strasbourg a hearty kick in the ribs. "Yeah, they had that coming," she agreed. "But that still leaves us down our primary strike force. And there's no way we can afford to strip the main body of any heavies."

"Well, there is another heavy available that we haven't deployed yet," Valiant pointed out.

"Really? Who?"

~o~

Yavuz Sultan Selim gulped, trying to dispel the sinking pit in her stomach. She had no business being here, going up against the most powerful Abyssal this side of the Submarine Empress, with only a pair of crazy Italian torpedo boats and five aging Australians as backup. But if she fled, the entire operation would collapse and months of preparation and valuable, carefully hoarded supplies would go to waste.

On the plus side, they hadn't seen any Abyssals yet, and the thunder of heavy gunfire in the distance suggested things would stay that way. The pit didn't go away, but it did shrink somewhat.

"Vampire, status report?" she heard Stuart state into the radio. Eighty years ago she would have berated the destroyer leader for breaking radio silence, but the Abyssals had proven abysmal at breaking modern codes. Comically so, even.

 _"I see her!"_ came the report. _"And she's sitting on... I don't know what it is, but I'm gonna wreck it!"  
_  
Almost as soon as Vampire finished that, the line erupted with gunfire and Vampire's screaming.

"Dammit!" Stuart spat. "Flank speed, everyone! Lupo, Sagittario, go ahead of us and extract that crazy tin can! The rest of us will get there as soon as we can!"

"Aye!"

And now the pit was back, bigger than ever. Still, if anyone could last against an Empress-class Abyssal for any length of time, it was the two torpedo boats charging ahead. Both Lupo and Sagittario had crazy luck, emphasis on the crazy in Lupo's case.

For the next fifteen minutes, a tense silence hung over the task force. No news was good news, but Yavuz couldn't help but wonder if they'd all been sunk. Luckily, the radio crackling to life lifted her spirits.

 _"Bad news!"  
_  
And then sent it plummeting down.

 _"My damn luck kicked in again!"_ Sagittario snarled. _"It mistook me for a battleship or heavy cruiser or something, because I've got an Abyssal on my tail, and I've never seen anything like it!"  
_  
That wasn't good news. At all. The mystery of this new Abyssal was solved quickly by the whoosh of a solid-fuel rocket motor, followed by an almighty explosion that the task force spotted on the horizon.

"What the hell was that?!" Voyager yelped.

Lupo answered almost immediately. _"Missiles! And not mild missiles or friendly missiles, either!"  
_  
Paling, Yavuz made her decision. "We're retreating!" she barked. "Stuart, radio the fleet! Tell them the Abyssals have a missile ship on hand."

 _"Tell them they're about to have more company, too!"_ Vampire cut in, her voice tight with pain. _"Company that's-"_

~o~

"Are those fucking torpedo battleships?!"

Richelieu wrenched her gaze away from the Ru-class battleship she was shooting at and looked down towards the horizon. Sure enough, there were a half-dozen battleship-like figures approaching. But torpedo battleships? Talk about a daft idea.  
 _  
"Definitely torpedo battleships!"_ Wasp confirmed. _"Dauntless pilot's counting ten quintuple mounts each side, and that's not counting any underwater tubes!"  
_  
Scratch that, having something that could launch fifty torpedoes a broadside was daft, but the diabolical kind of daft instead of stupid.

"Can you stop them?" she queried the carriers.

 _"We're all fresh out of ready bombers!"_ Illustrious snapped. _"Fifteen minutes!"  
_  
"I think you'll get that time," Richelieu decided as she peered at the horizon again. "They're still over 35 kilometers away, no way can they-"

But even as she said it, the French battleship knew this to be a lie. The Abyssals were turning away, and that meant-

 _"Evade, evade!"_ Wasp screamed.

 _'At that range...'_ Classified figures flashed to the forefront, her mighty mind crunching the numbers.

Surprisingly, her sister beat her to it.

"Turn away!" Jean Bart ordered. "And put on as much speed as you can!"

Every Allied battleship swung away, their guns still firing, this time to suppress incoming fire, and poured on the speed. The torpedoes were gaining, but the numbers didn't lie: they'd stay ahead of them until after they expended their fuel. Shells bit into her armor, but she ignored it. At this range, even battleship shells couldn't do much.

*BOOM!*

"Yargh!"

"Bretagne!"

However, all that only applied to the modern fast battleships, who not only had speed but had also been sitting at greater range to start with. The older battleships in the force, of which there were many, were not as well off, and the Bretagne sisters were the worst off in this regard. Richelieu's aft radar dispassionately relayed the situation: Bretagne, crippled, burning, and dangerously close to sinking, with Provence and Lorraine huddled protectively around her and the torpedoes _converging_ on them. They were dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

"I say thee _nay!"  
_  
Well. Almost nothing.

Warspite dove into the huddled formation, fist reared back. When the torpedoes were almost upon them, she slammed it down, the shockwave created spreading out in a low swell from the surface but a great disturbance deep below, a disturbance that caught the torpedoes and snapped them like twigs.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Richelieu tapped her throat. "Orders, admiral?"

 _"... Complete the withdrawal, Richelieu,"_ Admiral Masson ordered, sounding more tired than the battleship had ever heard her. _"That Empress gets to live a little longer."_


	41. Rule 2144

**Rule 2144: After latest events, where the USN nearly lost half the Fletchers, several capital ships, and several major support personnel if not for Wosp,** ** _ALL_** **friendly Abyssals must both wear an easily identifiable feature to distinguish themselves from their Feral cousins and must let the base personnel know they arrive.** ** _NO EXCEPTIONS.  
_**  
The Re-class battleship known as Fortuna gulped audibly as she approached San Diego, her radar dutifully telling her about the approaching patrol plane. Seriously, this couldn't work. The Americans had to have a way to tell Traitor Abyssals from their normal counterparts. They just had to! Her luck wasn't _that_ good!

Apparently, it was. She passed by the patrol aircraft without incident, then the pickets, and then the dock workers, all by the apparent means of _not attacking anybody._

 _'Seriously. It can't be this easy! What have we been doing if it was this easy?!'_

But it was. Fortuna weaved through the naval base, privately marveling at both the base and the city around it. The Abyssals had never built something like this; possibly never could. Still, respect for humanity's construction abilities aside, she was here for a reason. Her weaving looked random, but it was slowly bringing her ever closer to the repair docks, and her target: Medusa.

Soon, she was poking her head into the shipgirl repair docks, Medusa fussing over an opened-up Portland. "One moment, please," the repair ship muttered as she continued to work. Fascinated, Fortuna walked around to get a closer look. Despite having her chest cavity opened up to expose her machinery, the heavy cruiser looked almost bored with what was going on. Yup. Shipgirls were definitely insane!

Finally, Medusa buttoned Portland back up, threw her back her shirt, and pulled her up off the operation table. "Alright, no serious exertion for 72 hours, and no ship fuels in your diet. Other than that, you're good to go." Nodding, Portland strode out of the room, and the repair ship finally turned her attention to Fortuna. "Right, how can I help you, um..." She squinted at the Abyssal. "You're not Wreck... dammit, we really need to get an identification system for you Allied Abyssals... Anyway, what can I do for you?"

Ah, there was her cue. Fortuna manifested her full armament and grinned shark-like. [You can die for me, please. That'd be real great.]

She knew she wouldn't survive this, but damn if the look on that shipgirl's face would let her die happy!

~o~

William D. Porter, flanked by Johnston and Nicholas, resisted the urge to wipe the blood leaking into her eye from a cut on her forehead in favor of glaring at the Re-class that had torn through San Diego before the three of them had managed to stop it. Bad enough they were fighting a Re-class, but this one was even tougher than the usual sort, as the groaning, unmoving bodies of all four of the South Dakota sisters lying behind it attested to. It was all they could do to just hold it off.

"Anyone got any bright ideas?" she whispered.

"Well, my usual 'Charge screaming at it' idea isn't working so hot, so I got nothing," Johnston whispered back, hand drifting to a bleeding gash in her side.

"Uh, guys?" Nicholas said nervously. "Where's its tail?"

"What are you talking about? It's right... there..." Johnson's eyes widened as she saw that the Re-class was, indeed missing its tail. Willie D. immediately grasped the implications, whirled around, and saw the tail lunge at her. Its head slammed into and through her gut, and as she collapsed she glanced over at her sisters and saw them frantically backpedalling, guns trying to swing around.

 _'It won't help,'_ she knew, and she felt despair creep into her mind.

And then, she heard propellers.

~o~

Wosp grimaced as she watched the Re-class flee through the eyes of her planes, and began recalling her fliers. If she hadn't been in the area...

No, that didn't bear thinking about. She was here, she'd stopped this, and hopefully both Medusa and Willie D. would live. Turning, she headed back to the docks, meeting Admiral Holloway at the pier.

[How did this happen?!] the Allied Wo-class snapped as she clambered up. [How could she have been mistaken for an Allied Abyssal?! Don't we have-] She froze, and then looked over her outfit. [Sonuvabitch, we don't have any identifying markers. I'm surprised-]

"This didn't happen sooner?" Admiral Holloway wryly finished. "No, that's the question on everyone's minds. I already have some of the PR people working on a identifier, possibly personalized."

Wosp nodded. Sensible. And should work until the Abyssals figured out how to copy the markers, which personalization would delay significantly. [Good. Are Medusa and Willie D. alright?]

"Not _okay_ , but they'll survive," Holloway answered. "Now c'mon, the rest of the Fletchers are throwing you a congratulation party."

Wosp immediately lit up. [Will there be cake?!]

"There will be _plenty_ of cake," Holloway grinned.


	42. Rule 2149

**Rule 2149: Can't believe we actually have to do this but ghost stories are banned, ones involving ships are right out.**

"- and then, the wind began to howl. As one, they turned to the horizon, and all of them paled at what they saw. A storm was coming, and there was no way for them to get away in time. The only shelter was the abandoned ship they stood on."

Chief Zaiz felt his grin widen as the destroyers huddled in front of him shivered. "S-So what happened next?" Forrest shakily asked.

"They settled in, of course. They had food enough, for no storm in memory lasted long enough for them to starve. They had fuel, and could remove fittings for more, so water and heat were not a problem. These were not problems. But the ships was, for she did not want them on board. It was little things, hints in the creaking of her hull, in the way the wind blew through and rattled her. Accidents, small but inexplicable. A broken pipe here, a patch of rust giving way there. What injuries there were were minor, but were always a reminder that it could have been far worse."

"And that was only the beginning. The men began to see glimpses, hints, of a woman with pale skin and hair, always in the corner of their eye and gone when they looked. At first. As the days stretched on, she became more and more visible. New details emerged, from the bloody, dripping furs she wore to the chilling cold she projected. Soon, the Eskimos barely left their fire, and always travelled in groups to get more fuel."

"By the ninth day on the ship, even the fire was inadequate to keep her away. The men shivered, the fire sputtered and flared, and frost creeped across the metal towards them. And still the wind howled, rattling the ship. They faced a choice: to die, frozen, in the storm outside, or die, frozen, at the hand of whatever monster huddled with them."

At this point, the destroyers were huddled together in a protective cuddlepile. "W-What did they choose?!" Hobson asked, her voice high and squeaky.

"They didn't need to choose. Luckily for them, the storm died down before I could consume their souls."

Suddenly, Zaiz was very aware of three things. First, someone had just snuck up on him. Second, the room was suddenly fifteen degrees colder than it had been two minutes ago. Third, and most importantly, there was an icy hand gripping his shoulder. Slowly, the usually fearless ordnance chief turned around beholding icy blue eyes, platinum blonde hair, and pale skin over brown furs.

"Hey," SS Baychimo nonchalantly stated.

"IYAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Zaiz immediately screamed, and dove out the window, prompting panic from Baychimo. "This is the fourth floor, you idiot!" she snapped, running to the window - and then blinking as she saw him land, roll, and sprint off, still screaming at the top of his lungs. "Huh, impressive. Are we sure he's human?" That last was directed to the destroyers. Unfortunately, they had passed out from fear. "Never mind, then..."


	43. Rule 2153

**Rule 2153. To whoever ruined Supply Depot Princess' oil rig, several bars and a space shuttle during a fight with the giant chicken please come forward several people would like a word with you.**

"So, why an oil rig?" the Director queried her Supply Depot Princess. Said Installation beamed and adjusted her glasses.

[I'm glad you asked, Director! As you know, we Installations-]

"Yes, yes, I designed you all and I know how you generate supplies, get on with it."

Sighing, Supply Depot Princess adjusted her glasses again and swept her arms out towards the oil rig. [Anyway, we generate our own supplies. We don't _need_ to extract anything to survive and fight. But!] She whirled around, jabbing a finger the Director's way. [We don't want to just survive! We want to _live!_ Which means we get a lot of defections simply because the humans have tasty food.]

"Don't remind me..." the Director groused. "I should box the entire Light Cruiser Demon line for that..."

[Anyway, I started thinking of ways to boost morale, and I decided, hot oil! Who doesn't like hot oil? And then we captured that freighter a while back and now we can have hot _spiced_ oil! I just needed to get the oil.]

"Hence the oil rig."

[Hence the oil rig.]

Slowly, the Director nodded, a smile spreading over her face. "Well, it's a start. And hopefully it can be more than that. You got any other morale-boosting ideas handy?"

[Well, I've been meaning to bug our new Anchorage Princess about that cinnamon roll recipe she has-]

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

All of a sudden, a flaming, screaming meteor tore out of the sky and slammed into the oil rig, the resulting explosion reducing it down to its pilings - which were, it must be noted, also on fire. Seconds later, a chicken the size of Godzilla landed in the water, kicking up waves, and let out a squawk to shake the heavens.

"... Okay, what the _fuck_ ," the Director stated.

[NOOOOO, MY OIL RIG!]

Filing away Supply Depot Princess' anguished scream, the Director focused on the scene, the flaming oil rig zooming into fill her field of vision. There, climbing out of the flames was a shipgirl. A very annoyed, very French shipgirl, who immediately jabbed a finger at the chicken. "Fool! I am your creator!" Provence demanded. "I order you to- WHARGLBLRARGLE!"

That last was due to the chicken blasting her off over the horizon with some sort of energy beam from its beak. Ignoring the Abyssal and her master on the shore, it trundled after its creator, clucking away.

"... That never works, you know..." the Director managed to get out. She stayed like that for several minutes before Supply Depot Princess' sobs caught her attention. Sitting down next to her, she stroked her own creation's back. "It's alright. We can rebuild it..."

~o~

Sound is the human body detecting and interpreting vibrations propagating through the air of the atmosphere. There is no air in space, nowhere for the vibrations to propagate through. And so it was that when Provence smacked into one of the new SpaceX reusable orbiters with enough force to punch through the cargo bay and embed herself in the other wall, nobody heard it.

"JESUS FUCK!"

 _Feeling_ it, however, was an entirely different matter.

"What the hell just hit us?" one of them said.

"I don't know!" another replied, frantically tapping away at the instruments. "I'm checking the- CHICKEN!"

All eyes followed his out the cockpit window, where they were all treated to the impossible sight of a Godzilla-sized chicken floating through the void towards them.

After a moment spent just staring out the cockpit, the captain threw up his hands and declared, "Nope! That's it! I'm done! When we land, I'm quitting, and cashing in my pension, and then I'm selling my house and moving to Arizona! And if Elon Musk's HR team doesn't like that, then they can suck my balls!"

"That sounds like a great idea, sir!"

"Yeah, fuck this shit, I'm out!"

"Uh, guys? Still on a collision course with a really big chicken!"

A moment of silence, and then everyone was scrambling around to get the shuttle moving. They didn't get very far; they had all just sat down again when the shuttle lurched, something passing in front of their cockpit in the direction of the chicken.

"Let's get out of here instead?" the captain weakly suggested as shipgirl and chicken engaged in a duel of energy beams.

"YES."

~o~

"Vanguard..." Admiral Collingwood nervously asked. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Should!" the mad scientist battleship cheerfully replied as she hefted what she called the 'zappy stick'. "We're all eating KFC tonight!"

Grimacing, Collingwood glanced to the... whatever it was that generated all the atmospheric charge Vanguard's device used. He wanted to call the person-sized cylinders 'generators', but Vanguard insisted otherwise, and when Provence had plummeted from _orbit_ and obliterated a small island, followed shortly by a colossal chicken, he had wasted no time yanking responsibility for cleaning this up from the French, so he didn't bother arguing. On the plus side, now the French owed him, though that wouldn't matter if this failed to kill the damn thing.

"SQUAAAAWK!"

And there it was, terrifying. Perhaps because it was a reversal of the usual size relationship between their species. "Vanguard..." he said (not whimpered!).

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," she replied, aiming the zappy stick and pressing a button.

The result was like Zeus or Thor had decided they didn't like this chicken in particular. A bolt of lightning as wide as an American supercarrier screamed down from a cloudless sky, engulfing the chicken in a colossal avian squawk and an overpowering stench of ozone and burned feathers. All too soon, the divine fury ended - leaving behind a steaming KFC bucket full of fried chicken, easily the size the bird had been.

"How the fuck?!" Collingwood yelped, noting out the corner of his eye Vanguard looking similarly befuddled.


	44. Rule 2158

**Rule 2158. Stop trying to determine whether little Yoshino will be a carrier, a battleship or some unholy combination of the two. She's only 14 months old.**

"I bet she'll be a carrier," Zuikaku stated as she watched Yoshino toddle around, her head propped up on her elbows. "One of her moms is the most famous and most badass carrier of them all."

"I appreciate the flattery, Turkey-chan, but I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," Enterprise deadpanned as she pushed a large roast into the oven. "You've been staring at her for three hours."

"Don't call me a turkey!" Zuikaku reflexively snapped. "And I haven't been here that long!"

Not saying anything, or even looking away from the oven, Enterprise pointed up to the clock on the wall. With that evidence, Zuikaku couldn't deny it anymore.

"Aheheheh... fifteen more minutes?" she chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. "I'm close, I can feel it!"

"To what?"

"Figuring out what kind of shipgirl Yoshino will be!"

Outside, Yamato was just walking up the sidewalk when the door to their house opened. There was the sound of a brief scuffle, then the sound of a punt, followed immediately by Zuikaku flying out the door and into the rose bushes lining the sidewalk.

"I wonder what that was about?" she muttered, before shrugging and entering her home.

~o~

"She's gonna be a battleship," Iowa declared as Yoshino gnawed on a block of scrap steel. "I can tell. She has the soul of one."

"First the turkey and now you," Enterprise sighed, leaning on her broom. "Is everyone in Japan gonna drop by our house to share their theory on what kind of ship our daughter is?"

"Yeah, probably."

"That was a rhetorical question..." the carrier muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, Iowa, I need you to leave. Like, now."

The battleship nodded, before walking over to Yoshino and pick her up. "Alright, I'll watch her for you while you and Yamato... heheheheheh."

The lecherous giggle drew a frown on Enterprise's face. "What the hell do you think I need you gone for?"

"Well, there's [REDACTED]," Iowa answered, the frown on the other shipgirl's face racing the other direction. "And then [REDACTED] and then once you finish licking it all off you'd [REDACTED]. Unless, of course, you want to go with [REDACTED]. Y'now, if you're into that thing."

By now, E's eyebrows were basically attempting to go into hibernation with the rest of her hair, and her face threatened to bypass red entirely. "Out!" she shrieked, sprinting up and yanking Yoshino out of Iowa's arms. "Take your corruption with you! And never come back!"

"Touchy..." Iowa replied, rolling her eyes. Still, she left, leaving Enterprise hot, flustered, and very frustrated.

Two days later, Iowa received a thank-you card from Yamato.

~o~

"Out!" Enterprise snapped as she shoved Akigumo out the door, line drawings for an "Awesome Yamato-Yorktown hybrid carrier!" clutched in her hands.

~o~

The dulcet tones of Yoshino crying echoed through the neighborhood as Enterprise dragged Taiho out by her collar.

"I just wanted to check her fuel tanks!" the armored carrier wailed.

~o~

"Harrier power!" Boxer shouted as she sailed through the air, propelled by E's foot.

~o~

Enterprise opened the door, glaring down at the twin Yuubaris. "Whaddya want?"

The two cruisers exchanged nervous looks, but before they could answer Yamato's voice echoed down the front hall.

"Honey, is Yamato going to have to choke a bitch? Because I, Yamato, seriously believe that _I_ , Yamato, have _clearly_ not been doing enough bitch-choking around here."

"Nothing that can't wait!" one of the Yuubaris answered, smiling cheerfully but stiffly.

"Yeah, we'll just be going now," the other Yuubari agreed.


	45. Rule 2159

**Rule 2159. We know the phrase is banned already, but Kraken is to not give any ship girl or human personnel any excuse to say "I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going".**

"Sonar contact! Really big!"

Sendai sighed, rolling her eyes. "Please don't depth-charge the whale, you guys..."

"T-That was one time!" Shirayuki protested, blushing furiously at the memory.

"One time that set every environmental organization in the world after us!" Fubuki snapped, before taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Okay... okay, I'm good..."

"Well, don't worry, it's not a whale," Murakumo answered, Hatsuyuki nodding along. "Though... I have no idea _what_ it is. We might want to back up a bit."

That sounded like a great idea to Sendai, and she gave out the necessary orders. And just in time, too, for the unknown contact surfaced soon after they'd pulled back a hundred yards, very quickly clearing up the mystery of what it was.

"Oh my..." Shirayuki squeaked, covering her eyes and blushing, though her fingers still allowed one eye to peer through.

"Oh boy..." Murakumo muttered, her eyes wide and red dusting her cheeks as well.

"Huh..." Hatsuyuki said, one eyebrow rising up.

"Oh my God..." Fubuki groaned, cradling her head in her hands.

Sendai just licked her lips.

Now sitting on the water was a squid about the size of a Humboldt Squid. Except it wasn't actually a squid. It was too... polished to be natural, somehow. Hard to describe. The entire thing just _screamed_ artificial.

Of course, considering some of the work the Mad Science shipgirls had done, "artificial" did not necessarily mean "mechanical". As a result, all five shipgirls were very nervously eyeing the tentacles swaying with too fluid a movement for mechanical systems.

Well, four shipgirls.

"I've seen enough hentai to know where _this_ is going..." Sendai crooned in a sultry voice.

WHAM!

"WE ARE HAVING A SITUATION HERE AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS YOUR DAMN LUSTS, YOU DEVIANT?!" Murakumo shrieked at Sendai, who was now sprawled out on the water with a smoking goose egg on her head from where the destroyer had clocked her.

"Actually, not to take away from your very valid point, sis, but we don't have a situation," Fubuki countered, glaring at the squid. "Kraken, seriously, take that damn thing off."

An "Aww, c'mon!" came from the squid, and then two of the tentacles reached up and plucked the mantle off the squid's body, revealing the submarine USS Kraken. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Because it looked artificial, and because you're the only one who wears the damn things," came the answer. "Now, unless you have something urgent to tell us, we are going to head back and then we are going to get rid of your squid costumes."

"This is tyranny!"

"Can I burn them?" Murakumo volunteered.

"But tyranny is preferable to death!"


	46. Rule 2162

**Rule 2162. Whoever made the hull number hairpins for everyone, we love you. But next time, please don't push yourself too hard to make them all personally.**

"Morning," Chicago said to Minneapolis as the former sat down in front of her with breakfast in hand.

"Morning," Minneapolis greeted back. "So, what brings you to my table?"

"You looked a bit lonely," was the answer. "You usually eat with your sisters, but they're not here." That last was accompanied by a pointed sweep around the mostly empty table.

Taking a minute to chew her food, Minneapolis shrugged. "San Francisco and Astoria are on carrier escort duty, Tuscaloosa's still in Norfolk, New Orleans and Vincennes are off chasing that sensor ghost the Admiral's been ranting about, and Quincy..." She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, frowning in thought. "Actually, I don't know _what_ Quincy's been doing. Hell, I don't think I've seen her for three days."

Chicago nodded at that, but otherwise didn't reply in favor of shoveling more food into her mouth. Despite her worry, Minneapolis did so as well. It was a short list of mysteries that could be solved on an empty stomach, after all.

In the event, they never had to go mystery hunting. The mystery came to them, in the form of Chevalier walking up to them holding a pair of pins. "Hey-o, girls!" she said. "I've got your free hull number pins! A 29 for you..." Chicago took the proffered pin, looking it over. Brass, it featured a 29 emblazoned over Sears Tower (She was not calling it Willis Tower, dammit!). "And a 36 for you." Glancing over to Minneapolis, she saw that the other heavy cruiser's pin featured St. Paul's old steel hull in the background. "So, what do you think?"

"Well, uh, thanks for the gift, but... what brought this on?" Chicago queried.

"Well, apparently we Fletchers all look similar enough that people have trouble telling us apart-"

"WHICH I STILL THINK IS BULLSHIT, BY THE WAY!" came the dulcet tones of De Haven, echoing through the mess.

"So we were trying to find someone to make these pins for a while," Chevalier continued on without missing a beat. "And then lo and behold, Quincy volunteered to make these for us!"

Suddenly, Minneapolis felt like she'd had a lead weight dropped in her stomach. "How many pins were made?"

Chevalier opened her mouth to answer, then closed. "Uh... I actually don't. Hey, Strong!" she shouted. "How many pins did Quincy make again?"

"Uh, all of them, I think! Nicholas and Willie went to go make sure she's okay!"

When Chevalier turned back to the two heavy cruisers, her face was pale. "Uh, I need to keep giving out the pins, but she's taken over one of the machine shops, and-"

Chicago and Minneapolis wasted no time in shoveling the last of their food down their gullets and bolting.

"Right, good luck, I guess."

~o~

When Minneapolis and Chicago skidded around the last corner in the machine shops, they saw Nicholas and Willie D. lugging an unconscious Quincy between them.

"She passed out from exhaustion!" Nicholas called out. "She was working three days straight on this!"

"Also, her wrist's like a sack of flour!" Willie D. added. That said wrist flopped bonelessly around when she lifted the cruiser's right arm only emphasized the point. "We'll get her to the repair docks!"

Nodding, Chicago turned to Minneapolis, a smile on her face. "Well, looks like that situation is-" She cut herself off at the frown the other cruiser was wearing. "What is it?"

"Call it a hunch..." Minneapolis muttered, walking into the machine shop. Ignoring stacks of scrap brass, she picked up one of the many coffee mugs littering the shop, lifting it up to her face and sniffing. She grimaced. "I thought so. Chicago, call ahead to Medusa, and tell her she's taken Johnston's 'miracle elixir'." Picking up another cup and sniffing it, her grimace deepened. "A _lot_ of it."


	47. Rule 2164

**Rule 2164. Atlanta is to be kept away from the Akatsuki class for her own safety.  
**  
"Right!" Atlanta stated as she took in the mountains and skyscrapers of the Kanto region looming in the distance. "Japan, here I come! Now, who's that guide I was promised, and where is she?"

"I am here."

Atlanta blinked, and shifted her gaze to the snowy-haired destroyer in a sailor uniform and hat standing nearby. "I am Hibiki. I will be guiding you through your visit." Her eyes narrowed. "You are an Atlanta-class, right?"

"Not just any Atlanta class. You're looking at the lead ship right here!" Atlanta bragged.

It was then that the destroyer did something very odd. Still staring at her eyes narrowed, she retrieved a flask from her skirt pocket, unscrewed the top (and incidentally, making Atlanta reel back from the sudden stench of very strong vodka), and then upending it in her mouth and chugging. Atlanta watched, fascinated, as her throat bobbed up and down; she knew from experience that very few people could properly chug alcohol that strong.

Finally, Hibiki lifted the flask from her mouth, shaking a last few drops out, and brought her head down to continue staring at an increasingly unnerved Atlanta, now obviously drunk. The destroyer's gaze shifted from Atlanta's face down to her chest, and finally she spoke. "You... have breasts."

Atlanta blinked. "Yes?"

"But... destroyer body." Thinking hard, Hibiki waved her hand. "C'mon, turn around."

Mentally shrugging, Atlanta spun in place, though the scrutiny from the Japanese shipgirl was a bit uncomfortable.

"Butts, too. I mean, butt. You have one of those." Glancing over her shoulder, Atlanta saw Hibiki glare down at her own washboard chest. "I don't. Where's the justice in that?"

"Uh, squats can help with developing a butt..." Atlanta offered as she turned back to a facing position.

"I do squats. Lots. It doesn't help."

Now increasingly weirded out by the drunk destroyer, Atlanta tried to change the subject. "Uh, shouldn't we be heading back to the docks? I'm sure there's someone expecting us."

"I don't like you."

Atlanta groaned and slumped forward at the blunt declaration. "Of course you don't..."

"And not just because you have butts. And a breast." Hibiki frowned again, swaying slightly. "Well. Only a little bit. Now if I could just remember..."

With the destroyer deep in thought, Atlanta surreptitiously began maneuvering to flee the scene as fast as she could. All her instincts were screaming that something bad was about to happen, and that it would be best to get as far away from ground zero as possible.

"Oh. Now I remember."

And then she froze as a wave pure murderous rage swept over her. Slowly, Atlanta turned around.

That was a mistake.

"You killed Akatsuki," Hibiki intoned, black flames seeming to burn around her.

"Meep."

~o~

Atlanta groaned as she pulled herself along the wall of one of Yokosuka's corridors, wincing as each movement pulled at bruised flesh. That it was only bruises was a bit of a miracle in itself; she had spent a good half hour frantically evading Hibiki, taking only the occasional blow, before the destroyer passed out from the combination of alcohol and exertion. Hauling her unconscious carcass had further exacerbated her sore, battered muscles, and now her plans for sightseeing had been scuppered in favor of getting in one of those hot baths the Japanese favored.

And oh lucky day, there were a few shipgirls to ask about! "Hey!" she called out to the two brown-haired, destroyer-sized girls. "Could either of you direct me to the baths?"

Both destroyers turned around, their eyes innocent and devoid of any malice. They also looked familiar.

"Um, do we know you, nanodesu?" the one on the left, her hair pulled up, asked.

"Yeah, you look really familiar," the one on the right, her hair short and loose, agreed.

"I'm Atlanta, I'm here on break," she answered, wincing at the pain that ran up her back. "Anyway, seriously, do you know where-"

CLANG!

An indeterminate amount of time later, Atlanta opened her eyes, her vision wobbling and a fifty-man marching band practicing in her skull. Dimly, she heard arguing.

"- that was back in the war-"

"- still- killed- forgive-!"

"- be like Aso?"

Silence.

Slowly, the ringing concussion subsided and Atlanta's vision stabilized, though her mind was still mostly mush. The two brown-haired girls were standing a few feet away, arguing, one of them holding an anchor in her hand.

 _'Oh. That must be what hit me.'  
_  
"Ugh..." she groaned, bringing a handle up to cradle her face. "Seriously, first the vodkabote and now you... what did I _do_...?"

A stench of ozone and an ominous crackling sound prompted her to remove her hand - and glance up at a fucking _goddess of lightning_ looming over her looking very displeased.

"You don't even _remember?!"_ the destroyer screeched, before bringing her hand down.

The sizzling sound Atlanta heard as she blacked out again was thoroughly ominous.

~o~

When Atlanta came to again, it was to the much more welcoming sight of Tenryuu looking apologetic. "Sorry about that," she said, rubbing the back of her head. "The girls can get a little... overzealous, especially when it comes to Akatsuki."

"Akatsuki..." Atlanta muttered, before slapping her forehead. "Right, that destroyer who lit me up back in that back-alley brawl we had near Guadalcanal!"

"That's the one," Tenryuu nodded. "Anyway, I talked to them about it, they're all really sorry and won't do it again _-_ " Suddenly, the other light cruiser was right in her face, eyes promising death. "And if you go anywhere near Akatsuki I will stab you to death with your own jawbone. We clear?"

"C-Crystal," Atlanta squeaked.

Nodding, Tenryuu pulled back and was suddenly all smiles again. "Glad we cleared that up! Enjoy the rest of your stay in Japan, Atlanta!"

That done, Atlanta slumped back into her bed, leaving Tenryuu to leave. As she closed the door behind her, she turned towards the hall - and immediately flinched back from three dozen barrels of 5" death pointing into her face.

"I called them off, I apologized, I removed the temptation, _what the fuck else do you want?!"_ she wailed.

San Juan, San Diego, and Juneau were silent before pulling back their guns, to Tenryuu's immense relief. "That will do," San Diego stated, before turning on her heel. "We'll keep in touch."


	48. Rule 2168

**Rule 2168. You may not use depth charges in lieu of eggs for an Easter egg hunt.  
**  
Retrieving Iowa, Wonda, and Central Princess had been straightforward affair. Hancock had called in New Jersey and Wisconsin to haul Iowa and Central Princess out of the holes they'd fallen in, while Leutze was tasked with undoing the knots that held the net holding Wonda together.

[So, is this some sort of human holiday?] the Wo-class asked, rubbing at the rope marks on her exposed skin.

"You don't know about- right, Abyssals," Hancock muttered. "This is Easter. There's religious significance to the holiday, but for most of us it's an excuse to buy candy, eat lamb, and hunt for painted eggs."

[Ah,] Wonda nodded. [Is that why Central Princess is rooting around in the bushes?]

"Probably," Hancock agreed, sidelong eyeing Leutze, who was looking quite pleased with herself. "Wonder why she's grinning like that?"

"Maybe she's just happy she got to teach Central Princess something?" Wisconsin offered.

"Nah, that's a "I know shit you don't" smile if I've ever seen one," New Jersey stated. "'Course, I don't know _what_ she doesn't know. I guess we should sit back and watch Central Princess stumble into it."

[And Iowa,] Wonda pointed out.

Jersey eyed her elder sister also rooting around in the bushes, and sighed. "Yes. And Iowa, too."

"Well, now I can see how those two got together..." Hancock muttered.

After several boring minutes, Central Princess let out a cry of triumph, holding something up. Iowa did the same, only to suddenly choke it off as she saw _what_ it was the Central Princess was holding.

[I know what eggs look like, and that is not an egg,] Wonda remarked. [That is a depth charge painted in a rather eye-searing shade of pink.]

"Eeyup," Hancock nodded.

"Well, that's not as bad as I thought," New Jersey sighed in relief, focusing on Iowa trying to get Central Princess to put down the explosive - and at Leutze giggling at the sight. "Those need pressure to set 'em off, and they aren't getting any of that here."

"Eeyup."

"Unless whoever left these strewn about modified the fuses," Wisconsin pointed out. "Say, a timed fuse."

"Eeyu- wait. Should we take cover?"

CHA-BOOF!

[Guess not,] Wonda stated as she wafted away some of the smoke. In the distance, she could see similar plumes rising all around the naval base. Glancing down, she beheld Iowa and Central Princess standing in place, covered in soot and looking thoroughly stunned. Sprawled out next to them with a bleeding wound on her forehead was Leutze, a piece of shrapnel lying on the ground next to her leaving no doubt as to what had caused the wound. [So, who wants to go tell Admiral- NOT IT!]

"Not it!"

"Not it!"

"Not i- motherfuck!" New Jersey spat.


	49. Rule 2169

**Rule 2169. If you went on a rampage that destroyed something or another or caused excessive bodily harm to anyone during said rampage, you have no right to complain about the amount of force used by the Coast Guard when they apprehend you.**

"Chester!"

Ayase, formerly of the Abyss, came to a screeching halt. She'd been set to ignore the tremendous commotion going on near the piers in favor of continuing her walk, but the mention of her friend overrode any other thought. Switching tracks, she ran into and shoved through the crowd, quickly breaking through. There, lying on the concrete was Chester, being tended to by several medics and who looked like she'd gotten in a fight with a wood chipper and lost.

[What happened?] she asked, her voice strung with tension.

"We're not sure," one of the sailors examining Chester said. "Obviously, she was in a fight..." He brushed away some stray powder residue on her wrecked rigging to emphasize the point. "But against what, no one knows. We'll contact you when she's stable enough to visit, alright?"

Suddenly aware that she was clenching her fists hard enough to bend steel, Ayase gave a sharp nod and stalked off to go find something to hit. A tree, a decommed ship, anything sturdy enough to last for more than a few minutes. What she really wanted, though, was to express her displeasure to whoever had done that to Chester.

Sadly, the odds of said person just showing up in front of her were unfathomably low.

~o~

USS Canton slowly floated back towards San Diego, trusting in the cover of night and her stealth features active and passive to see her through the defenses. She sighed; really, this was just such a waste of time. They should have been looking for a way to get back home, but no, Miss Kohl _insisted_ that they learn about the local powers.

"If she could just get off her fat ass, we wouldn't _need_ to know, because they'd all be _dead,_ " Canton grumbled, ears twitching in aggravation.

Really, incarnations of WWII ships? It'd be funny, if it weren't so pathetic. Modern airships like her were so much superior. Her eyes fell on a scorch mark on her jacket, and she grimaced as the reason why she was so grumpy re-entered her mind. Really, that heavy cruiser should have known better than to pick a fight with her. A savage, joyless grin revealed pointed fangs, and she flexed her hands, the claws popping out. Oh, she'd paid for that, and for her contrarian stubbornness afterward.

Shaking her head, Canton pressed onward. Scouting first, then she could head back to base and spar with Artois to work out her frustrations.

As she continued over the city, Canton could only marvel at the fact that she hadn't been spotted. Yes, she was small and stealthed to hell and back, but seriously, she should have been seen by now!

[Hey!]

Never mind, then. Glancing down, Canton saw a very odd shipgirl. Limited though her observations may have been, shipgirls looked within human norms, just with odd hair colors and impossible beauty. This girl did not look to be in human norms; unnaturally pale skin aside, the glowing blue eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Yes?" she queried, floating down towards the ground.

[Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?] the shipgirl snapped.

"I don't need to answer someone as rude as you," Canton replied. A thought occurred to her and, without regard for consequences, she said, "Now I see where that heavy cruiser got her manners from."

Silence. Canton frowned. She'd been expecting _some_ sort of-

 **[SO.]  
**  
Suddenly, Canton shivered, her ears pointing downward and a spike of fear the likes of which she hadn't felt since her first encounter with Russian Foxhounds nearly a decade prior shooting through her. The shipgirl below had suddenly... darkened, for lack of a better term. A black mist had sprung up around her, and her eyes, once best compared to a mountain lake, now more resembled a raging hurricane.

 **[THAT WAS YOU.]  
**  
Frantically gunning her engines, Canton clawed for altitude, crossing her arms in front of her.

And a good thing, too, for Ayase slammed into them barely a second later. Growling, Canton pushed back, sending the Abyssal skidding away on the air, and with the distance opened the airship cued up an octet of antiship missiles, firing them at once.

To her dismay, the Abyssal simply swept her hands through the missiles, the explosives not even scratching her skin. In response, Ayase materialized a frankly _distressing_ amount of artillery that opened fire immediately.

Bracing, Canton's anti-artillery weapons opened up, swatting shells from the sky. It wasn't enough. The Abyssal was doing a creditable impression of a machine gun battalion, her cannon firing as fast as she could load them. And Canton's anti-artillery systems had never been designed for this volume of fire. Only frantic evasion saved her from serious damage, as Ayase's surface targeting systems were equally unable to cope with something as fast as an airship, leaving the anti-air guns to take up the slack.

More missiles were fired, this time twenty supersonics. Ayase's guns switched targets, but proved utterly ineffectual against the high-speed missiles, and for a moment, Canton could believe she could win this.

And then Ayase _jumped forward,_ twisting through the missile salvo, the contact warheads not initiating. Canton frantically backpedalled for more distance, terror-stricken thoughts running through her mind.

 _'What is this!'_ she mentally wailed. _'What is this what is this what is this!'_ Suddenly, her mind made the connection. And if anything, it made her more afraid. 'This _is an Abyssal?! How the hell is WWII technology stopping these things?! Kohl needs to know, so she can_ annihilate _these monsters!_ '

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ayase closing until the Abyssal slammed into her and knocked them both out of the sky and into a building below. The resulting crash-landing left Canton a shattered, bleeding mess, and Ayase none worse for the wear. All the airship could do as she struggled into a reclined position was watch as the Abyssal stomped over to her, her entire body radiating a promise of pain and murder.

 **[CHESTER IS MY BEST FRIEND,]** she growled, Canton paling as she realized she was in even _deeper_ shit than she'd thought. **[AND YOU NEARLY KILLED HER. A THOUSAND YEARS FROM NOW, PARENTS WILL TELL STORIES OF YOUR DEATH TO SCARE THEIR CHILDREN TO SLEEP.]** The Abyssal stopped in front of Canton, hand reared back for a knife thrust. She closed her eyes.

And then opened them seconds later when the expected pain didn't come.

Ayase, as it turned out, was being dogpiled by normal shipgirls, her head slammed into the concrete if the cracks were anything to go by. [POLICE BRUTALITY!] she wailed. [THIS IS POLICE BRUTALITY! I'M CALLING THE ACLU ON YOUR ASSES!]

"You destroyed the base ice cream parlor, asshole!" one of the newcomers snapped. "You don't get to complain anymore!"

Glancing around, Canton noted that it was indeed an ice cream parlor they had crash-landed in. She also noted that her attacker was now completely occupied, and it was probably time to exercise the better part of valor and all that. Floating up, she winced at the twinges of pain it sent through her body. Oh, Kohl was going to really let her have it as she recovered.


	50. Rule 2176

**Rule 2176: Yuubari, you are not allowed to create any more robotic versions of ship girls. Metal Shimakaze and the original are fighting it out right now. And yes, we know it is you, a few officers heard you shout "STRANGE, ISN'T IT?"**

SMASH!

Ooyodo, despite still following Admiral Goto, sent a nervous glance over her shoulder, where Shimakaze and a shiny metal version of herself were going at it hammer and tongs, crashing through buildings, trees, and shipgirls. The two were trading punches so fast they seemed to have eight arms each, and she could only count her lucky stars that they hadn't tried to shoot each other yet.

"Uh, sir?" she queried. "I know catching the culprit is important and all, but... shouldn't we try to stop them?"

"No. And for two reasons," Goto replied. "First, there are enough spectators, including her sister, to stop us if we tried to stop them. And second..."

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-!"

Man and shipgirl glanced up to see Mutsu flying over their heads, clearly not of her own volition.

"I don't think they'd let us."

Ooyodo nodded. "Point taken, Admiral."

The two continued on in silence until they reached the Yuubaris' labs. Admiral Goto wasted no time in pounding on the door. "Yuubari! Open up!" There was no answer, and after several seconds Goto flashed his secretary ship a vicious smirk. "Ooyodo... I want this door out of my sight."

"Yes, sir," Ooyodo replied, light glinting off her glasses as she adjusted them. Summoning her rigging, she pointed her six 6.1" main guns at the door. Sadly, she never got to fire, as Yuubari hastily threw the door open, waving a small white flag.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" she wailed.

"Then will you be letting us in?" Goto asked.

"Yes!"

Goto and Ooyodo strode into the as-usual-messy lab area, Yuubari trailing nervously beside them. The other Yuubari was busy making adjustments to a robot version of Yuudachi, and didn't notice them. Both officers stared at the construct, and the Yuubari next to them gained a proud smile.

"Impressive, isn't it?" she said. "And with the Shimakaze robot performing just about flawlessly, we can proceed with-"

"Shutting down and scrapping the lot?" Admiral Goto finished.

Both Yuubaris looked at him in horror. "Admiral!" the one working the Yuudach-bot said, appalled. "We've put way too much work into these things to shut down the program now!"

"A-And you can't just scrap them! That-That would be murder!"

"That too!"

"Are they sapient?"

The mad scientists whipped over to Ooyodo. "Eh?"

"Are. They. Sapient?" she repeated.

"Er, no?" Yuubari answered. "But that doesn't matter! They're living beings, and we can't just kill them!"

Both sides stared at each other, neither willing to budge. Goto and Ooyodo had the full weight of naval authority behind them, but the Yuubaris had simple concern for sapient life that, despite the militaristic turn the JSDF had had to take in this godforsaken war, the service still valued highly.

And then Shimakaze crashed through the roof, holding the severed, sparking head of her robotic counterpart, rendering the whole thing moot.

Standing on shaky legs, she spat, "Never again," before throwing the head at the Yuubaris' feet and stalking off.

Silence descended, and then Yuubari raised a finger and opened her mouth.

"Yes, they fought," Goto deadpanned.

That Yuubari closed her mouth, the other sighing. "Alright, we'll scrap the project."


	51. Rule 2179

**Rule 2179. Whoever gave DD6 a case of Monster when they asked for something to help keep them focused while on expeditions, either turn yourself into the Admiralty or we will let Tenryuu do as she wishes with you when she finds you. The choice is yours.**

 _"Another_ expedition?" Ikazuchi groaned.

Tenryuu sighed, reaching up to scratch her head. "Yeah, I know, I know. But we need the supplies, and more importantly the Allied Abyssals need the parts. If it helps, some of the subs have been reassigned to Orel runs, too."

"No, it doesn't help," Akatsuki primly answered. "A lady doesn't try to play misery Olympics."

"Well, then, I've got nothing," the light cruiser shrugged. "Though if you guys can find some boredom aids, more power to ya." And with that, she left.

"It would be nice to have something against the boredom, nanodesu..." Inazuma sighed.

Wordlessly, Hibiki held up her vodka flask.

"Aw, that's your answer to everything, Bikki," Ikazuchi groused. "Besides, that's a depressant, it impairs us, and the hangovers are killer."

Beside her, her last two sisters whined and grabbed their heads. "Never again!" Akatsuki swore.

"But you're on the right track, I think," Ikazuchi continued. "There's gotta be some sort of drink that does the opposite of alcohol, we just gotta find it! Everyone, go pick someone to ask!"

"Aye!"

With that, the four destroyers scattered, talking to every older shipgirl or sailor they could find. It didn't take them long; all four had a secret weapon called "Am I going to have to look this up on the internet?" Their targets sang like canaries after those words. And all of them pointed to the same source.

"Energy drinks?" Naka repeated, Desdiv 6 nodding. The light cruiser straightened from her leaned-forward position in the door, and put on a bright smile. "This is for expeditions, right?" More nods. "Excellent! Follow me, I've got a few cases I haven't used yet."

Following, their heads on a swivel as they took in the room and its many posters, recording equipment, gaming rig, and very comfy-looking desk chair, while Naka rooted around in her closet. Soon, she reappeared, a box for soda cans in lime green and black in her hands. Monster, it said on the front.

"Uh, are you sure that's safe, nanodesu?" Inazuma queried.

"Totally. I drink it all the time!"

 _"I_ like the name," Ikazuchi decided as she took the case. "Thanks, Naka!"

"No problem!" the light cruiser replied, waving them goodbye. A twinge of worry ran through her, Monster was packed full of sugar and caffeine, but she brushed it aside. She wouldn't have to handle any consequences, and besides, what's the worst that could happen?

~o~

"The worst that could happen", apparently, was Tenryuu holding her at swordpoint in her room with Super Nagamon looming ominously behind her.

"Now, now," she said nervously, hands raised in placation. "I'm sure whatever it is I did we can work it out _without_ violence."

"So you're saying you _didn't_ give my girls an entire case of Monster, traffic cone?" Tenryuu growled.

Shoving down a burst of anger at the _goddamn_ nickname, Naka replied, "I take it it went bad?"

Nagato snorted, the first thing she'd done besides loom ominously since arriving behind Tenryuu. "'It went bad', she says," the battleship said, voice drier than the Atacama. "I didn't know you were British, too, Naka."

Oh. Great. "So, on a scale of one to 'Shimakaze on a sugar high'..."

"My Hoppo-chan stole an old JAL 747 and added it to her air wing." Nagato's face twisted in anguish. "You made my Hoppo-chan a criminal, you- ack!"

"Behave!" Tenryuu snapped, lowering the spray bottle in her hand, leaving Nagato sputtering and wiping water off her face.

Once again, Naka shoved down a burst of emotion, this time a laugh that probably would've gotten her skewered. "Right... okay, that's pretty bad, I'll admit. What do you want _me_ to do about it?"

The matching grins Tenryuu and Nagato suddenly wore completely outweighed any relief Naka felt from the latter dropping her Super Nagamon form.

"You get to _babysit them_ while this wears off."


	52. Rule 2183

**Rule 2183. We want to make it absolutely clear to you girls: You are not allowed to engage in food fights of any kind.**

Taylor scanned over her four division-mates sitting at the table with her. Nicholas, Chevalier, La Vallette, and Strong all looked anxious, and it wasn't hard to guess why, as William D. Porter hadn't arrived yet. She resisted the urge to sigh; honestly, coming back from Bremerton to find that another destroyer had basically taken her place and rendered her a sixth wheel was not a pleasant one, and she couldn't even fault them for it. They hadn't meant it that way, and the change in Willie D. was remarkable.

Still, there had to be some way to get them back...

Slowly, Taylor eyed the large bowl of mashed potatoes, and a devious grin spread over her face as she grabbed both the bowl and a spoon. Taking a scoop of the mashed tuber, she gripped it in a fist and sloooooowly bent it back - and promptly snapped it right in half.

"Aw, shoot," she muttered, stealing Chevalier's spoon when she wasn't looking. Another load of mashed potatoes set, she bent back the spoon, being more careful this time, and let go, the wad flying straight and true right into Nicholas' ear.

"Ack!" the destroyer yelped, whirling around to glare at Taylor. "What was that for?!"

"Hey, I need to pay you guys back for replacing me somehow, right?" she said with a grin, launching another wad of mashed potatoes that caught Nicholas right between the eyes. As the destroyer spluttered and tried to wipe away the food, Taylor felt a glob strike the back of her head, prompting her to whirl around and shoot a challenging smirk at Strong.

"Oh, it's on now!" she crowed, scooping out some mashed potato with her hand and throwing it. Strong, naturally, ducked, the potato sailing onward - right to the table behind her, where Missouri was sitting facing them. She promptly got a glob of mashed potato to the face.

"You realize, of course," Missouri said with deceptive calm as she wiped mashed potatoes off her face. Reaching over, she grabbed and aimed one of the colossal bottles of ketchup on her table. "That this means war!" And with that, she squeezed the bottle with all her battleship strength, coating Taylor in ketchup - and also getting some on St. Louis, who was sitting on the table behind the destroyer.

"Ack!" she yelped, spinning around. "Who did that?"

"Missouri did it!" Taylor immediately replied. With the destroyer still coated in ketchup, and Missouri still holding a crumpled bottle of the stuff, the claim was easy enough to confirm. And Missouri knew it.

"N-Now, St. Louis, be reasonable," she tried, hastily dropping the ketchup bottle. "This was an acci-"

SPLUT!

A shepherd's pie straight to the face promptly knocked the battleship ass over teakettle. "Anyone else?!" the cruiser roared, brandishing two more of the pies.

"Missouri!"

"You fiend!"

"Yeah, I think we'll fucking take you up on that offer!"

St. Louis grinned and turned to the other three steaming Iowa-class. "Bring it!" she crowed, Boise, Helena, Nashville, and Honolulu standing in armed solidarity.

There was a tense silence as the Iowas gathered their own weapons - a string of sausages twenty feet long for Wisconsin, a pair of whole turkeys for New Jersey that she slipped over her fist, and a jumbo-sized ketchup bottle and jumbo-sized mayo bottle for Iowa - and then Kidd broke the silence.

"Food fight!" she shouted, raising a bowl of whipped cream - and then upending it on Black, who had the misfortune of sitting next to her.

"Hey!"

And with that, the room descended into utter chaos.

~o~

"As good as it is to have you back," Admiral Holloway said as he and Enterprise walked towards the mess. "Are you sure leaving Yamato and Yoshino back in Japan is alright?"

"It's fine, she just needed to arrange a plane ticket here," Enterprise explained. "They'll be here in a week or so. I can handle a week." The carrier shivered, a haunted look creeping in her eyes. "Yeah, I can handle that..."

Holloway raised an eyebrow, completely missing William D. Porter hitting the window he'd just walked past. "If you say so."

"I do say so, because if either of us is going to start doing long-term sorties again we need to get used to it," E snapped. Letting out a deep breath, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Sorry, cranky. Jet lag, low fuel..."

"Well, the last, at least, we can remedy," Holloway stated, throwing open the doors to the mess - and immediately ducking under a sweet baguette that sailed over his head with enough force to embed itself in the wall behind him. Beside him, Enterprise gaped at the scene inside the mess.

Food and condiments liberally decorated the walls, more joining it every second in a riot of color that would have impressed Jackson Pollock. A mess of destroyers, cruisers, and battleships were in a thundering melee across the floor, fighting with anything they could get their hands on: condiments, sauces, fruits, vegetables, bread, whole chickens and turkeys, sausage links. Hell, Enterprise could see Washington batting enemies away with a watermelon with what looked like a chair leg stabbed into it for a hammer; on a related note, the battleship was almost entirely untouched, and there was a large hole in the ceiling above her. The carriers had retreated to the edges of the room, pelting anyone who came close with pies, citrus, and condiments.

And there in the center were three of the Iowa sisters and five of the Brooklyn sisters waging their own private war. Wisconsin had wrapped a long link of sausages around Honolulu's neck, the cruiser attempting to tear the sausages strangling her apart. New Jersey was on the offensive, her turkey-clad fists batting away the pies and mustard St. Louis and Helena were attempting to fight back with, allowing her to steadily creep closer. And Iowa, covered in mayonnaise, was waging a condiment firefight with Nashville and Boise.

"Wow, they're really going at it, huh?"

Enterprise glanced down, and had to fight the urge to scream at the sight of Taylor covered in crimson from head to toe. "A-Are you-?"

"What?" Taylor glanced up confused. "What are you- Oh. Right. No, I'm fine, this is all ketchup."

"When I'm through with whoever did this, they're gonna look like you!" Holloway growled as he walked into the cafeteria. "And not with ketchup either!"

Luckily for the shipgirls inside, Enterprise snagged his collar before he could get very far. "Admiral, calm. Deep breaths, deep breaths..." To her relief, after a moment of struggle the breaths came, and some of the tension ebbed from his shoulders. "Alright. Now, we're going to handle this calmly and-"

"Alright, girls, we're here, and we're going to break up this food fight! And why are we going to do that?"

"Because they didn't invite us!"

Enterprise turned to see the destroyers of Taffy 3 standing nearby, fully kitted out. Samuel B. Roberts, Johnston, and Heermann had expressions of comical anger, while Hoel looked like she'd bitten into a grapefruit.

"I'll take it," she decided, spinning on her heel. "Move out!"

"Well, at least the fight's being broken up," Holloway stated, grimacing at the screams of pain and sounds of shattering plastic and metal sounded out. "Though the repair bills make this less than ideal. In the meantime..."

The Admiral's hand flashed out and grabbed Taylor, who had been trying to surreptitiously sneak away.

"Why don't we have a little talk?"

Taylor gulped as Holloway and Enterprise loomed over her. "Oh, this is gonna _suck..."_


	53. Rule 2187

**Rule 2187. Fuso and Yamashiro, you are not allowed to put yourselves in a box for adoption outside of foreign bases with few battleships. The Canadians are seriously thinking about it.**

Yamashiro slowly leaned around a corner, staring into the room it led to - and promptly flinched back from the sight of Fuso sitting on the ground, knees up and a palpable aura of depression wafting about her.

"She's still like that..." the battleship said, sighing. Her face twisting in anger, she raised her fist and shouted "Curse you, Hyuuga!"

~o~

Several hundred miles out to sea, Hyuuga sneezed. As she hastily pulled out a handkerchief to wipe, she noted that someone must be talking about her. Probably Fuso or Yamashiro. Ise, meanwhile, blithely ignored her sister's sneeze and kept firing on the Abyssals.

Said Abyssals were notably less sanguine about the sneeze than the two battleships.

[Oh God she sneezed!] one Ta-class battleship yelped. [That means she's sick with some sort of illness! Like Typhus! Or TB! Or Ebola!]

[Run!] the Ru-class leading the group shouted in panic. [Run, before we start oozing Maker-knows-what out of every orifice!]

 _'I'm not sick, dammit!'_ Hyuuga mentally protested, but she said nothing. If they wanted to flee, she wasn't going to argue.

~o~

"Okay, as cathartic as that is, it's not helping me solve this problem! I know Big Sis is sad because we don't get sortied to fight. So I gotta figure out how to get us sortied." Closing her eyes, Yamashiro began to think of solutions. Or try, at least, as the high-pitched whine that quickly leaked out of her mouth attested to. "Okay... We could take out every other battleship... no, that'd just get my ass kicked." Falling silent again, she continued to wrack her brains, and just as smoke began coming out of her ears, she opened eyes lit up in realization. "I know! We just need to go to a navy that appreciates our services! But how to do that...?"

Standing, Yamashiro wandered off. "I need to think about this..."

~o~

By the next day, Fuso was still sulking, her mood not at all improved by Ise and Hyuuga coming back unscratched and, if their story was to be believed, with the incredible luck to get the _stupidest_ Abyssals of all time. Dammit, it just wasn't fair! She and her sister were just as good as that drunkard and her airhead of a sister!

Had she known that her aura of depression and resentment was driving away anyone who might have wanted to sit next to her, Fuso wouldn't have cared, most likely. It's only mentioned because Yamashiro sitting down next to her, followed by a dull 'whump', was thus rather attention-getting. Glancing up, she saw Yamashiro grinning a sunny smile, a large... cardboard box? next to her.

"What's got you all fired up, sunshine?" Fuso grumped.

"I have a solution to our..." Yamashiro's eyebrow twitched. _"Usability problems_ , as Shimakaze called them. Behold!"

One of Fuso's eyebrows quirked up as the box was dropped in front of her. She quickly deduced that it would comfortably hold the two of them before she noticed the "free battleships!" written on the front. This was then joined by a pair of cat-ear headbands. The other eyebrow joined the other.

She had to ask. She just had to. "And... how is this going to solve things?" At least her sullen depression was replaced by bewilderment.

"My plan is to offer our services to any navy that needs battleships!" Yamashiro stated. "We go to a port, and park ourselves in the boxes outside the naval base!"

Fuso opened her mouth to tell her sister that fuck no, they were not doing that, it was a stupid fucking idea... and then she came to a screeching halt with her mouth opened and a finger raised as she realized that this was _actually a good plan._ Or at least, functionally non-terrible.

"I assume you have a first target in mind?" Fuso queried, her mood steadily brightening.

"To Vladivostok!"

~o~

HMCS Ontario sighed as she clambered back up the pier in Halifax, wincing as the actions pulled at battered muscles. Another convoy, another Abyssal battleship raid, though this time, at least, Anson and Howe had managed to get there without the Canadians having to fend them off for thirty minutes. If they only had their own battleships...

She shook her head; that wasn't happening, unless some more alternate universe shenanigans dumped some willing volunteers in their laps.

"Yo, Ontario, we got a situation!" came Haida's voice.

Frowning, Ontario jogged towards where the destroyer was, before coming to a screeching halt at what she found in front of headquarters. Sitting there was a large cardboard box with "free battleships" scrawled on it in permanent marker. Inside sat Fuso and Yamashiro, both wearing cat ear headbands and looking far more adorable than they should be capable of. Even Fuso's grumpy unhappiness was sufficiently pouty and teary-eyed to trigger protective instincts.

Then Yamashiro went "Nya...", and Ontario's heart melted.

"WE'RE KEEPING THEM!" she declared, getting cheers from literally everybody in shouting distance.

~o~

Admiral Masson sighed and ran her hands up and down her face. With Colombo a full month into a serious bender, Briggs distracted by the Atlantic convoys, and the British officers in charge of Force H and the Mediterranean Fleet too junior for an operation this size, it had fallen to the French admiral to figure out what had gone wrong with the last assault on Malta, and how to succeed the next time.

The first was easy enough: they had been surprised by new Abyssal weapons, and an already-tight operation had gotten even tighter with the loss (temporarily, thank fuck) of the hard core of the strike force and the replacement of said strike force with a smaller, older, and overall weaker one. The second, though, was thoroughly vexing her. The Abyssals suddenly having missile cruisers and torpedo battleships with torpedoes that rivaled a modern Mk. 48 in performance meant that they couldn't counter either. The torpedo battleships would murder any gun vessels that came within their stupidly long range, while the missile cruisers would shield said battleships from aircraft. Her only option seemed to be another general assault, but that required considerably more force than she had.

"Maybe I should contact Holloway and Goto about those Allied Abyssals of theirs," Masson muttered.

The phone suddenly ringing was a welcome distraction from bashing her head against the metaphorical brick wall, and she almost tore it off the receiver. "Hello?"

 _"Morning, Masson!"_ came Admiral Lombard's voice, the Canadian sounding entirely too cheerful. _"I've just gotten a surprise windfall, and I was wondering if you could use an extra two battleships for the next Malta attack?"  
_  
Masson blinked. Okay, she wasn't expecting _that_. "Where did you just conjure up two battleships out of nowhere?"

 _"Well, let's just say Goto should have kept Fuso and Yamashiro happier if he-"_

"LOMBARD! GIVE ME BACK MY BATTLESHIPS!"

The sound of a scuffle broke out through the speakers, and slowly Masson placed the phone back. "I don't even _want_ to know," she decided.


	54. Rule 2188

**Rule 2188. No O'Brannon, despite what others have told you, there is not second potato famine approaching. Please exit the bunker and give back all of the potatoes you took.  
**  
"Oh, that's not good."

O'Bannon placed down the keg of beer she'd retrieved and turned her attention to the cruiser sitting at the bar. "What's not good?"

"Scientists have found some sort of new variety of potato blight in Indian crops," HMS Emerald read off of her phone, not noticing O'Bannon suddenly stiffening. "They've culled the crop and are keeping an eye out for more outbreaks. They've also taken samples to see how well current countermeasures do against it."

"I... see..." O'Bannon said, her voice tighter than a guitar string. "I... need to go... check... on my stock..." And with that, the destroyer slipped into the back room.

"Huh. That was weird," Emerald remarked. Shrugging she went back to her news feed and the pint she'd ordered and was slowly working her way through.

About fifteen minutes later, the weirdness intensified as O'Bannon came out of the back room, wearing an expression of pure existential horror that made Emerald unconsciously scoot her stool back. "We're closed," she intoned, and the cruiser decided that it was best not to dispute that.

"I see... just for today, or..."

"Forever." O'Bannon's eyes locked on Emerald's, and the cruiser knew she wasn't sleeping tonight. "Now get out."

Emerald got out. Quickly. Very quickly. At least she'd gotten to finish her beer.

~o~

Admiral Graham let out a sigh that was closer to a groan. Had his predecessor ever had to deal with this? This being the specific situation, not general shipgirl antics, which he _knew_ the poor man had had to deal with almost daily. "Could you repeat that, please?"

Sighing, Eagle closed her eyes and rifled through her memory. "Earlier today, O'Bannon snuck into the mess and made off with every potato we had," she explained. "We originally didn't think this was anything more than her usual potato obsession resurfacing at a bad time - she visits local potato farms once a month to dig them up and, er, roll around in - but the shipgirls who followed her back to her bar to retrieve them found her barricaded in a bunker she installed at some point under the building. Attempts to coax her out were met with verbal abuse, paranoid ramblings, and thrown bottles."

"Right, that's what I thought you said," Graham groaned, for real this time. "As an aside, what sort of paranoid ramblings?"

"Take a wild guess, Admiral."

So, potatoes. Probably a second potato famine or some nonsense like that.

"Right, just... we'll wait it out," Graham decided. "I'd rather not force the issue; who knows what she'd do." Nodding at his very intelligent decision, he decided to move on. "So. What else is on the docket today?"

"Besides the usual approvals..." Eagle muttered. "Let's see... well, the Norwegians are piss steaming mad about a break-in at the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, and her Majesty's government has decided that we'd be among the ones keeping an eye out for the culprits."

"Right..." Graham muttered, a suspicion tickling him. O'Bannon couldn't be that crazy, could she? "Did they say what kind of seeds were taken?"

"Potato seeds, but-" The look on Eagle's face as she connected the dots would have been hilarious in any other situation. It was still funny enough to draw a full-body shudder from Admiral Graham as he forced himself to suppress it. "That bloody fucking destroyer! Orders, sir?"

"Change of plans," Graham stated. "Find Revenge, and have her drag O'Bannon out of that bunker by any means necessary!"


	55. Rule 2189

**Rule 2189. While normally, we would applaud shipgirls sending gifts to other shipgirls in different navies, we would like to ask that whichever shipgirl in the RCN it is to stop sending Hibiki crystal skull vodka.  
**  
"Alright, everyone, I've got the mail!" Ikazuchi announced to the gathered destroyers of Desdiv 6, thumping a small pile of envelopes and two packages on the table. "Inazuma..." Three envelopes were tossed her way. "A letter from your _boyfriend_ , a credit card offer that actually looks really good, and more college ads."

Nodding, Inazuma took the envelopes and then scampered off her bed to read the first letter.

Next, four envelopes were sent Akatsuki's way. "Akatsuki, I've got four replies from cosmetics companies about product testing..." And then they were joined by one of the packages. "And your coffee." Ikazuchi sent a curious glance her big sister's way. "You've been buying a lot of coffee lately..."

"I buy and buy and buy and I can never find it!" Akatsuki suddenly screeched, slamming her hands on the table. "None of it is what I need! And nobody will tell me what brand it is! But I'll find it, oh yes I'll find it, and then, I shall be a true elephant lady!"

"Elegant," came a correction from Inazuma.

"As your big sister, I demand that you _shut it!"  
_  
"And three letters for you from the Russians, plus the package," Ikazuchi finished, pushing over the last of the mail as Akatsuki and Inazuma descended into a shouting match. "What's in that, anyway? It's really heavy."

Wordlessly, Hibiki tore open the cardboard, pulling out... a glass skull filled with clear liquid.

"Vodka. Should've known," Ikazuchi muttered. "But why the skull?"

"A gift," Hibiki answered. She didn't elaborate.

"Well, alright then," Ikazuchi answered, throwing up her hands. "Enjoy, I guess." The sound of splintering wood caught their attention, and both turned to see Akatsuki holding Inazuma in a headlock over the splintered remains of a desk. "I'll go break that up..."

~o~

Several days later, Inazuma was jolted from her sleep by the protests of her bladder. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and opened them-

"KYAAAAA!"

WHUMP!

And then screamed and fell over at the blue-tinged glass skull lit up from within.

Ikazuchi and Akatsuki muttered and rolled over, but one of Hibiki's blue eyes opened and stared right at Inazuma. There was a huff, and then it closed.

"Argh, Hibiki, you can't dodge responsibility forever, nanodesu," Inazuma muttered. Padding over to her desk, she scribbled a quick note and stuck it in the door in case Tenryuu's motherly instincts sent her to check up on them. And then, she climbed back in bed and fell asleep.

"KYAAAAAH!"

And then not two hours later it was Akatsuki's turn to have her wits scared out of her by the skull. Inazuma groaned and covered her head with her pillow. It only helped a little.

~o~

The next morning was... unpleasant. Hibiki was the only one of the quartet to be well-rested, though Akatsuki was compensating with copious consumption of coffee. And like the momboat she was, Tenryuu noticed immediately.

"So, is this related to all the screaming I heard last night?" she asked.

 _"Yes."_ came the chorus. "Bikki's stupid crystal skull nightlight kept scaring us," Ikazuchi grumped.

"Wimps," was all the destroyer in question had to say.

"Wimps or not, I'm gonna have to ask that you do something about that, Hibiki," Tenryuu said. "Also, I'm a little suspicious about who keeps sending you vodka gifts."

"Not hiding it. It's Georgetown." At the confused look on her momboat's face, Hibiki clarified, "Canadian."

Tenryuu pursed her lips, apparently rethinking something. "Maybe I should go through the normal channels for once..."


	56. Rule 2193

**Rule 2193.** **Popping out** **of the "birthday cake" of your assigned admiral/commodore/captain - NO.**

Kongo hummed a cheerful tune as she made her way through her day. She hummed as she ate, she hummed as she walked, and she hummed as she cheerfully helped annihilate a small force of Abyssals. Between that and memories of the last few times Kongo had hummed cheerfully for more than a few seconds (Worktown was rendered catatonic), just about everyone gave her a wide berth. Not that she noticed. She was too blissfully happy for what she had planned.

"No."

The humming only stopped at that word from Ooyodo, though it was a swift death indeed.

"Why not?!" Kongo demanded, slamming her palms on Ooyodo's desk.

"Look, I don't care about what you two get up to on your own time, and neither does Headquarters," Ooyodo answered. "But this is an official celebration - emphasis on _official_ \- which is why the cake is so big in the first place. Antics like that are too far out of line. As well, hollowing out the cake would make it too small to feed everyone, and you're planning to wear..." The secretary ship glanced at the form again. "And I quote, 'strategically placed green tea mochi'. We have _destroyers_ present. And even if they don't mind, you'd be angering every light cruiser on base."

"So if I change my outfit-"

 _"No_ , Kongo," Ooyodo snapped. "You popping out of the official cake is not happening. And you're not popping out of a cake in private, because I know your cooking skills and you can't make a cake that big, and Mamiya is not available despite the fact that she's got the official cake planned down to a science and would welcome another project."

Silence. Kongo narrowed her eyes at Ooyodo. A wink. The battleship nodded, and turned on her heel, humming back.

"Enjoy, Admiral," Ooyodo whispered.

~o~

"Happy birthday, Admiral!"

Admiral Masson smiled as almost every shipgirl in Toulon smiled at her, standing in front of a truly colossal cake and a small mountain of presents. And that smile only grew wider as La Palme and Basque ran up and wrapped their arms around her waist.

"Thank you so much, girls," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "I-"

Whatever she was going to say was brutally murdered in its crib when the top of the cake suddenly burst open in a shower of frosting and cake bits. Through this hail popped Surcouf, dressed in an even more skimpy swimsuit than usual. The cliche of "three triangles and dental floss" came to mind. "Happy Birthday, admiral!" she declared. After several seconds, she opened her eyes, and promptly recoiled.

 _Every_ shipgirl in the room was staring at her in either unbridled hatred or misty-eyed grief. But even combined, they had _nothing_ on Admiral Masson. The French Admiral was beyond the usual drill-sergeant rage. She had gone past fury and collected 200 Euros and was now well on her way to putting down several hotels on Incandescent Avenue. She veritably _seethed._ No words were spoken, but Richelieu and Jean Bart stepped up and plucked the utterly paralyzed Surcouf out of the cake, miraculously not damaging it further; Commandante Teste followed up by tying the submarine up in ribbon and dumping her in front of Masson.

"It's almost a good thing I didn't get you a present before this, Admiral," the seaplane carrier said. "Enjoy!"

To the shock of everyone, Masson suddenly burst into flames in the shape of a phoenix, a savage grin spreading over her face. "Yes... I think I will..."

~o~

"I'm not doing it."

King George V crossed her arms and leaned back, waiting for the inevitable protests. She was not disappointed.

"We worked so hard on the cake!"

"Admiral Collingwood'll love it!"

"He deserves it, after everything we put him through!"

"Well, not _us_ , as in the four of us, but everyone else-"

"Enough!" King George V snapped, punctuating her point by slamming her palm on the table. "It would be thoroughly improper for me to do that-"

"But talking to Centurion for two hours is okay, huh, sis?" Prince of Wales interjected, to King George V's red-faced horror. "And don't try to tell me it was over the carrier training schedules, those don't take two hours to go over. Or require _hand-written_ _notes._ "

"So much for not being _improper_ ," Howe snarked, rolling her eyes.

"To be fair, public impropriety and private impropriety are very different things," Duke of York countered. "Otherwise, quite a few shipgirls and their significant others would be arrested for-"

"Okay!" King George V interjected. "I won't protest, just _shut up_ and take this to Admiral Collingwood, okay?"

"Okay!" her four sisters chorused.


	57. Rule 2198

**Rule 2198. Kaga, while we know you miss the cannons from your brief time as a Tosa-class, that does not mean that you can have the SCIENCE!girls replace your secondaries with DEWs. You have enough heat problems as it is.**

Kaga gritted her teeth as her casemated 8" guns fired on the Abyssal heavy cruiser dancing around at the edge of her range - and transitioned into an outright snarl as the shells not only fell short, but she felt more water slosh into the weapons mounts.

The return fire bit far less deep than her long-simmering frustration at the state of her guns. She was a carrier, and proud of her status and skills, but there was always some part of her that longed for her old role as a battleship. That longing intensified whenever the _damn heavy cruisers and battleship_ _ **didn't do their damn jobs AND-  
**_  
Ahem.

Anyway, further intensification had come from meeting her alternate universe counterpart, who was a full-on, highly-decorated battleship, and who was unwillingly accompanied by Illinois' constant, raucous laughter at seeing her rival turned into a "bird farm".

Finally, Kumano dove into the fray and got the Abyssal heavy cruiser off her back, but in the meantime Kaga had resolved two things. First, she was having her 8" guns removed the first chance she got. And second, she was upgrading, preferably to something she could mount on her flight deck without compromising flight operations.

~o~

Thousands of miles away and a week later, Russian cruiser Chapayev sat down at her computer and opened up her email. Most of it was official communications, letters from her fellow Russian shipgirls (heavily censored, of course), and spam. One email did catch her attention, being as it was from Yuubari of Yokosuka. One of them, at least.

Before opening it, she first hit the email with every antivirus program she had on hand. All the Mad Science! shipgirls dabbled in programming and malware, and on occasion they forgot about it, making cleaning their emails an absolute necessity. After fifteen minutes, satisfied that opening the message wouldn't brick her computer, she opened it up, scanning over the first few lines. Then she read the next few lines, and before long she was completely devouring the email, her mind awhirl with possibilities. Already she had an idea of what Kaga wanted, and all she needed were some of the plans to fully plot out the refit.

A knock on the door shocked Chapayev out of her fugue, and with rational thought returning she wondered who the hell was at the door. Her workshop and home was located out in Middle of Nowhere, Siberia, the better to test volatile energy weapons without risking massive collateral damage. Also, it was secret, and not readily apparent on Google Earth. She'd checked.

So it was with considerable trepidation that the cruiser stood and walked down to her front door, opening it. Luckily, it wasn't the military come to take her away or some formless monster. Instead, it was a grizzled, blond-haired man thoroughly dressed for the weather.

"Kaga's plans," he grunted, handing over a wrapped package.

Chapayev didn't move, too stunned to do more than gape. "How-"

"Royal Mail Steamer. The US Postal Service has _nothing_ on us," the man replied. "Now just _take the damn package_ so I can go home to my nice warm bed and nice warm girlfriend."

Wordlessly, Chapayev took the package, and watched as what had to be RMS Olympic stalked off into the Siberian wilderness. Oh well. He'd gotten here - somehow - presumably he could get back. Instead, she ripped open the package, carrying key plans of Kaga's old hull.

"Let's do this," the cruiser said, sitting down and going to work.

~o~

Of course, a refit of that size wasn't going to be missed by those in Japan. Everyone was left gossiping when Kaga went to Vladivostok and spent two days there doing... something. The rumors couldn't agree on what. Some said it was to indoctrinate her in GLORIOUS COMMUNISM! Some said she was defecting. Others pointed to an exclusive refit of some kind. The most outlandish was that the Russians were going to vivisect her to learn the secret to making artificial shipgirls like Murakumo (FLEET).

Then she showed back up, looking no different, and the rumors died out.

And then she sortied later that day, and the murmurs started right back up again.

"Uh, Akagi?" Tanikaze whispered to the carrier, sidelong eyeing the new, odd turrets lining Kaga's flight deck. "What the heck are those?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Akagi muttered back.

Frowning, Tanikaze moved back to her spot in the formation, and kept her eye on Kaga. _'I hope you know what you're doing...'  
_  
Shortly thereafter, the carriers launched their planes - and as usual, a pair of Abyssal heavy cruisers had gotten past the screen. Tanikaze readied herself for a torpedo attack, noting Akagi moving up with her 8" guns - and then, in a flash of light, several energy beams slammed into the cruisers and flatly obliterated them. Whirling around, she tracked them back to Kaga, who was, incidentally, looking like it was about fifty degrees hotter than it actually was. The carrier was red-faced - red-skinned, really - sweating like a stuck pig, and swaying on her feet.

"Dammit, Kaga, your heat problems are bad enough _normally!"_ Akagi shouted.


	58. Rule 2200

**Rule 2200. Marine Nationale ship girls, stop making fun of the RN ship girls whenever one them has** **driving duties** **when in France.**

"Have no fear, everyone! Quincy is here!"

The American heavy cruiser was greeted by exasperated sighs in the break room she'd swept into, followed by studious ignoring. She blinked; that hadn't been the reaction she was expecting. Scanning about the room, her eyes fell on three familiar faces.

Walking over to the table, she sat down and greeted each shipgirl in turn. "Garibaldi. Gloire. Orion. Man, I haven't seen you guys in ages!"

Silence, all three cruisers staring at her. Finally, Gloire broke it.

"What the hell are you doing here, Quincy?"

The American cruiser winced. "I overdid it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, kinda," Orion replied. "Now answer the question."

"Well, the Abyssals finally stopped being complete assholes and let up enough to send a carrier task group to help you guys out," Quincy explained. "I was sent on ahead to get a feel for things, set some groundwork, y'know?"

Orion, Garibaldi, and Gloire pondered that - and then all three grinned and piled on Quincy, hugging and backslapping and laughing.

"About time you got here!" Orion crowed.

"I missed ya, you crazy American!" Garibaldi laughed.

"You stay away from my coffee this time!" the American replied.

 _"One time!"  
_  
"So, what do you say to seeing the Southern French coastline _without_ blowing it up?" Gloire suggested.

"Sounds boring." Quincy promptly ducked an annoyed swipe, laughing. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. That sounds like a great time! Especially the topless beaches." This time, the swipe hit, though it didn't stop the laughing.

~o~

"Hey, uh, you can go a little faster, y'know."

Orion didn't answer Quincy, in favor of keeping her eyes on the road and a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Around her, French drivers wove in and out of their lanes, gaps opening and closing in split seconds, and the entire road moving a good fifteen kilometers an hour faster than Orion.

"I am _driving the speed limit,"_ she said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, and no one else is," Quincy helpfully pointed out. _"You're_ the unsafe one, here."

"Don't bother, Quincy," Gloire cut in, sounding disappointed. "All Brits are like this when it comes to driving."

"Yeah, I get that, but it's unsafe! Seriously! I don't want to get into a-"

Suddenly, Orion whirled around, her face panicked and furious in equal measure. "So help me, Quincy, if you don't bloody shut up I will hold down the clutch with your face!"

Quincy nodded, letting Orion turn her attention back to the road, though she could still hear the conversation in the back seat. "Touchy," Quincy muttered. "What's got her all worked up? I mean, this isn't nearly as bad as New York."

"Or Paris," Gloire added.

"Or Houston. God, Houston..."

Somehow, Orion's knuckles tightened even more on the steering wheel - without warping it. She had half a mind to lecture those two on how _civilized people_ drove! Instead, a tap on her shoulder from Garibaldi caught her attention.

"I happen to agree with you," Garibaldi stated. "But Quincy's got a point about flow of traffic. Why don't you let one of them drive?"

"If I'm going to be surrounded by _maniacs_ ," Orion answered. "I am going to be in control of my own fucking destiny!"

"Yes, and you're going to blow a gasket doing so."

Unable to refute the point, Orion navigated through the shoals of French drivers to pull off the road. Getting out she stomped to the back and flung the driver's-side rear door open. "Alright, one of you bloody maniacs can drive if you think you're so much better at it."

A quick consultation had Quincy take the wheel, and soon they were off again, this time smoothly navigating the traffic at same speed.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"Yeah, definitely not Houston or New York or even Boston," Quincy muttered to herself. "Maybe Los Angeles?"

This was very little comfort to Orion, who was bracing herself against the walls as the car weaved in and out. "HOW ARE YOU SO CALM?!" she shouted to Garibaldi.

"The driving's more atrocious, but we're also not hugging a cliff with no guard rails," Garibaldi pointed out. "This has nothing on the Amalfi roads."


	59. Rule 2202

**Rule 2202. Taffy 3 is to be reminded that after last year's April Fools Day, New Jersey is going to be watching them like that Haast Eagle that the SCIENCE!girls brought back on a dare.**

 _March 31  
_  
Johnston, Heermann, and Samuel B. Roberts fidgeted in place; this had much to do with the fact that not only were Hoel and New Jersey eyeing them warily, they were also flanked by Raymond, Dennis, and John C. Butler, each DE wearing much the same expression. All they needed was the stern gazes of the escort carriers and the reunion would be complete.

"So," Jersey started. "I hope I don't need to explain why you're all here."

"That wasn't our fault!" Johnston immediately protested. "How were we supposed to know that Chicago had a cheddar allergy?!"

"And I don't think anyone expected _that_ reaction to _that_ mask from California," Heermann added.

"And if it was just that we wouldn't be having this conversation," New Jersey countered. "So. Ground rules. Tomorrow, we'll be watching you like that eagle South Dakota plucked out of the timestream. And by we, I mean me, Hoel, Raymond, Dennis, and John C. Butler."

"Oh, come on!"

"This is bullshit!"

"I'm sorry about the cat, okay? It attacked first!"

As the usual suspects descended into an argument, Raymond and Dennis watching in fascination, John C. Butler leaned over and whispered into Hoel's ear, "What's this about an eagle and the timestream? I was out last April Fools."

"Oh, South Dakota decided she wanted a Haast's Eagle, fired up her time machine, and got one," Hoel explained, pulling out her phone and holding up a picture. "Here, take a look."

Butler took the phone, and examined the picture. The eagle was magnificent; a large, solidly-built bird with plumage in gradients of gray and cream, sharp, intelligent eyes, and impressive talons. Then she glanced to the left and sucked in a breath as she saw that the bird came up past South Dakota's waist. Even if she was on the short side for a battleship, for a bird to be that big...

"Man, that thing looks it'd eat hogs for breakfast," Butler remarked, handing the phone back.

"Well, they ate moas, so they probably could," Hoel remarked, glancing back to the argument.

"- and that makes you a _hypocrite_ , Jersey!"

"How the fuck does that even-?"

"Money equals power. Power equals camel. Camel equals five celery sticks." Samuel B. Roberts glared at New Jersey with all the force she could muster. "Five, Jersey! Five!"

Though gratified that Heermann and Johnston seemed just as confused by Sammy B.'s utter non-logic as she was, it was still making her head hurt, so she turned back to John C. Butler. "Well, that was a bad idea. So! What have you guys been up to?"

~o~

"Aw, come on! They stuck the eagle on us, too?"

Hoel grinned at the frustration in Johnston's voice as they edged around what looked for all the world like a _swamp._ On a _military base_. In _San Diego_ , not exactly known for lots of water. The Haast's eagle sat on one of the trees in the swamp, eyeing their passage.

"Consider it Jersey's April Fools prank, sis," Hoel replied, smiling.

Johnston considered that, and then nodded. "Pretty good one."

Screaming rent the air, and Hoel and Johnston turned towards the source to see La Vallette running and screaming - while on fire. Behind her, Willie D. was chasing her, trying to put the fire out with a fire extinguisher. In the event, the latter didn't catch up to the former before La Vallette took a diving leap into the swamp, which neatly extinguished the fire.

It also attracted the attention of the swamp's eighteen-foot alligator, heretofore hidden as a large log.

"Now I understand why people like this holiday," Hoel remarked as La Vallette ran screaming again. "So much more fun when you're just an observer."

"Says you."


	60. Rule 2204

**Rule 2204. Shipgirls are not allowed to use corpses (or wreckage) of their fallen enemies as surfboards.**

Kiso winced as the shell that had been about to hit her instead took off two fingers, her arm unable to resist the momentum generated by her dodge. It didn't matter at this point, though; with one final surge of speed, she charged into melee range and stabbed the Ri-class heavy cruiser she'd been fighting in the gut with her sword. As the Abyssal screamed, the light cruiser attempted to yank the blade upward, but the poor thing wasn't designed for such abuse and snapped like a dry twig. Discarding the hilt, Kiso raised her torpedo mounts and finished the job that way.

With her opponent dead, and the rest of the battle dying down to a dull roar, she grimaced at the thought of her lost blade. "That's the fourth this month," she grumbled. Kitetsu would have fared better, but even just three missions had left the legendary blade looking dangerously close to permanent damage, and so now it occupied a place on her mantle.

Tenryuu, meanwhile, still had the same sword she'd... Kiso frowned. _Had_ her rival been summoned with her sword? That was the assumption everyone made, and it wasn't an unreasonable one, given Tatsuta and Murakumo had been summoned with their spears in hand. Regardless, it had lasted far, far longer than any sword Kiso had been able to find, which was incredibly frustrating. How?! How did the metal stand up to the brutish pounding Tenryuu gave it every time she used it?!

(Though Kiso could privately admit that, despite coming from the school of hack-and-slash as Tenryuu did, she was still an excellent swordswoman.)

Every other time she'd asked this question, she'd gotten no answer. But this time, something was dredged up from the depths of her memory...

~o~

 _She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Really. She'd just been passing by. That she had a perfect hiding spot nearby - a large, old oak tree - was completely a coincidence! That was her story, and she was sticking to it!_

 _"So, what is your sword made of, sister?"_

 _And really, when Tatsuta was fishing for information from your_ hated enemy _completely unbidden right next to you, that was an opportunity you don't pass up!_

 _As Kiso watched, Tenryuu blinked as she finished her sip of coffee. "Why d'ya ask?"_

 _"Well, because I've seen you bash it through an Abyssal's skull before, and everything I know about metallurgy says that should have wrecked it," Tatsuta answered. "And, of course, I know you weren't summoned with it, which would be the only explanation I can think of."_

 _Grinning, Tenryuu pulled out the sword. "Yeah, you're right. Normal metals would break with what I do to them." The grin widened. "But this ain't normal metal. This was forged from Abyssal scraps."_

 _Tatsuta's eyes widened, and Kiso knew her's were as well. Of course! That made complete sense! That was the secret of- why was Tenryuu standing? Why did she have her hand on her sheath. Why-_

~o~

"No wonder I couldn't remember," Kiso muttered, rubbing her forehead. "Stupid concussion..." Glancing back down at the corpse of the heavy cruiser she'd killed, an idea came to Kiso. "Say... I've got a nice, fresh corpse right here. I could get one of those fancy Abyssal-metal blades! But... how to get it back?"

A wave lapped against her ankles, and she grinned. "Now, there's an idea."

~o~

It was an annoyed Desdiv 7 that arrived back in Yokosuka several hours later, something that initially mystified Ooyodo. Even Ushio looked aggravated!

"Did... something happen?" she asked.

Akebono made a sound halfway between an erupting volcano and a braking locomotive that hadn't been oiled in ten years, leaving Ushio and Sazanami to pick up the slack.

"You'll see. Give it five minutes."

Not that they were much help, either. Resigning herself to having to wait, Ooyodo waved the destroyers on to the docks for relaxation and repair of any minor damage they had, and then sat down on the pier to wait for Kiso to get back.

Luckily, she wasn't waiting long. _Un_ luckily, the way Kiso got back threatened to fry Ooyodo's brain like a cheap microwave burrito. After all, it wasn't every day that Kiso arrived by riding a dead Abyssal's corpse (minus half its head, naturally) like a surfboard.

Upon reaching the shore, Kiso jumped off the corpse, grabbed it by the leg, did a flip, landed on the pier - and then let out a yelp of pain as said corpse landed on top of her.

"What in the world are you doing?" Ooyodo deadpanned as Kiso struggled out from under the corpse.

"I need a new sword!" Kiso declared. "An Abyssal metal sword! And so, I need a corpse! Gah!"

"But why _surfing?"  
_  
"'Cause it's fun. Duh."

Ooyodo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Well, regardless, we are not having another Abyssal-steel sword forged. Tenryuu-"

"Oh, come on!" Kiso snapped. "Why does she get to be an exception?!"

"Because she got grandfathered in by not showing any of the problems Yahagi did," Ooyodo explained, slowly and patiently.

That got Kiso's attention, and she dropped the dead Abyssal's head in her lap to focus entirely on the secretary ship. "Wait, Yahagi had one of those swords?"

"Briefly. She wanted a better way to serve Yamato, and so had a better sword forged from scraps collected from the corpses still sitting in harbor. Unfortunately, for some reason hers very quickly corrupted her into a bloodthirsty monster that went Abyssal. We believe the Abyssals took their light cruiser boss templates from her, in fact. Tenryuu eventually managed to break the damn thing and retrieve Yahagi, but not before she did quite a lot of damage, and they've been banned ever since."

That made sense... except for one thing. "How the hell did I not know about this?!" Kiso demanded.

"It was before your time- quite literally," Ooyodo explained. "You were summoned a week after Yahagi was reverted."

"Oh." Turning back to the corpse, Kiso freed a leg. "Don't need this anymore..." she sang, shoving it into the bay. For some odd reason, the groan from Ooyodo wasn't complimentary at all.

"Now I have to call the salvagers..."


	61. Rule 2206

**Rule 2206. Yuugiri is to get rid of the fog machine immediately.  
**  
Battle raged in the Western Pacific, Abyssal and shipgirl destroyers dueling near Marcus Island. The air was ripe with the stench of cordite, and the sea boiled with shells and torpedo wakes. Smoke obscured parts of the battlefield from the gunfire and frantic smokescreens, as did scattered rain squalls, which only further broke up the chaotic battle.

And despite the fact that the Japanese destroyers were kicking nine kinds of ass, they were decidedly unhappy. In particular, Asagiri, Amagiri, and Isonami of Desdiv 20 as they found themselves a destroyer short.

"Where. The fuck. Is Yuugiri?!" Asagiri snarled as she pounded an Abyssal destroyer with her guns.

"Maybe she got lost?" Amagiri weakly suggested.

"D-Don't worry, you guys!" Isonami said with surprising conviction. "She's got a surprise prepared! It'll be worth it, you see!"

"It better be..."

Shortly afterwards, a thick mist began drifting over the battlefield, a mist accompanied by some sort of accordion riff, of all things. A familiar accordion riff, at that. Out from the mist burst Yuugiri, a cocky smile on her face. "Never fear, everybody!" she declared. "I am-!"

The triumphant declaration was cut short by the sudden realization of a fact everyone else had already grasped: the mist had appeared near the _Abyssal_ flotilla rather than her friendly division-mates. So instead of being in front of friendly destroyers, she was in front of very _un_ friendly Abyssals.

"Oh, this is gonna _su-"_ she began, right as the deluge of shells obscured her in waterspouts.

"Uh, is she alive?" Amagiri wondered as the Abyssals continued the cannonade.

"Who cares!" Asagiri snapped, hefting one of her gun turrets. "We've got a golden opportunity here! Chaaaaaarge!"

Giving out battle cries of varying enthusiasm, the three destroyers of Desdiv 20 charged the Abyssals, firing guns and launching torpedoes heretofore held in reserve. The Abyssals, distracted by the sudden entry of a destroyer in their faces, didn't switch targets in time and all died messy, fast deaths.

Fast enough, in fact, that after their initial salvo Desdiv 20 were able to pivot and glance towards the mist.

"Do- Do you think Yuugiri's still alive?" Isonami wondered.

"I seriously doubt i-" Suddenly, Yuugiri burst from the mist, heavily damaged but very much still alive. "Never mind, she's alive."

"Oh, fuck you guys."

~o~

"Shit!"

POOMF!

That was all the warning Yokosuka got before a cold, chilling fog suddenly cut visibility down to ten feet. Many collisions, and injuries from said collisions, were had. And even the shipgirls radar systems could penetrate the dense fog.

"Gah! Iku!" Ashigara yelped, holding her arms over her chest.

"Sorry, sorry!" the submarine apologized with all the sincerity of a professional troll. "My sonar's not super precise, so I grabbed the wrong spot, eheheheh-"

Her lewd chuckles were cut short by a blade pressed against her neck. "Less cackling, more leading, you lewdmarine," Captain Yonehara growled.

"Y-Yes sir."

Led by Iku's sonar, they continued the search. The trio were one of several groups, each led by a submarine, navigating the mist-shrouded halls to try and find the source. So far, no one had had any luck, but their route had been mathematically computed to minimize search time. For another fifteen minutes, they continued in the cold, dense fog.

"Ack!"

And then Iku tripped over something.

Bending down, Ashigara triggered one of her searchlights, bathing the object in light. It was just enough to figure out what it was, and also make out the air currents it was creating.

"Sosuke, this looks like a fog machine to me," she said.

Captain Yonehara leaned over Ashigara's shoulder and, after a moment of examination, nodded in agreement. "Yup. Fog machine. Though how it's doing _this_ is beyond me."

"I got the culprit, too!" Iku announced, holding up Yuugiri.

"In my defense, it was an accident?" the destroyer offered.

From the looks Ashigara and Captain Yonehara were giving her, no dice.


	62. Rule 2211

**Rule 2211. Use of Hornet's nickname of "Horney maru" is restricted to close friends and family. Call her that at your own peril.  
**  
Before the Abyssals, the United States Navy's seamen had averaged 29 years of age. The current navy skewed even younger, due to the need to replace very large numbers of experienced personnel. A higher proportion of women and strenuous teaching served to keep sexual harassment cases to a minimum, but with so many twenty-something men a few were inevitable.

"Yo, Horney Maru!"

"Looking good, ladies!"

Case in point, the off-duty pair leaning against a wall drinking beers and just finishing off a wolf whistle to passing carriers Hornet, Bataan, and Yorktown, the former of whom stiffened at the comment.

"Oh, great," Yorktown muttered, slapping her hand to her face.

"Y'want me to go pound them?" the dusky-skinned Bataan growled, cracking her knuckles.

"Not what I meant," was the reply, Yorktown turning to Hornet. "Yo, sis? How're you feeling? D'you need some cold water?"

Frowning, Bataan glanced around the Essex at Hornet. Her eyes widened. Hornet was flushed, sweating, and one hand was- oh. Oh my. Wait, that name seriously-

"C'mon, Horney Maru, don't you want a good time?"

"Fuck."

"Uh, kind of a poor choice of words there, Yorktown," Bataan muttered. Most of her mind, though, was focused on the transformation that was overcoming Hornet. Any hint of fluster or blush vanished, replaced by deliberate sultriness. Her jacket was suddenly open, the top three buttons of her undershirt undone. Hornet - no, Horney Maru - licked her lips.

"-Why, boys, I'm amazed you even need to ask...-" she said in Japanese of all things. Grin widening, she started to strut towards the two surprised sailors, hips swaying. And with Bataan right behind her, well, there was only one thought that came to mind.

 _'Not a lesbian... not a lesbian... not a lesbian... dat aft, do... not a lesbian... not a lesbian...'  
_  
"Yeah, it's a disturbing effect, isn't it?" Yorktown muttered. "And this happens _every time_ someone who's not an Essex or a close friend uses that damn nickname."

Bataan tore her eyes from Hornet's ass - helped by the fact that it had stopped swaying - and shifted her gaze over to the suddenly nervous seamen. "So, what happens next?"

"Well, those boys are going to be in for the longest - and best - night of their lives," Yorktown replied, nodding her head towards the sailors. "And then they're gonna be walking bowlegged for a week."

Bataan nodded. That didn't seem to bad, all things considered.

~o~

 _One week later  
_  
"Just a night, huh, Yorktown?" Bataan muttered.

"Oh, this is a bad one," Belleau Wood added.

In front of them was a tableau of destruction: over a dozen male seamen sprawled out in a room, the floor covered in stained pillows and sheets and blankets, and the air drenched in a stench of sweat and sex. In the center of it all was Hornet, who was sprawled out completely naked, groaning and still.

"There's gotta be something we can do to stop these episodes before they get _this_ out of hand," Bataan wondered aloud.

"We've tried," Belleau Wood sighed. "Or rather, Essex tried. Then Midway. And then Enterprise. All three were put into traction, and she didn't stop. South Dakota induced the effect to see if she could devise a countermeasure. Let's just say that I was better off not knowing that ocular virginity is a thing."

Bataan tried to imagine the mechanics of that. She failed. Probably for the best. Beside the two light carriers, MPs, a medic, and Medusa swept into the room, shaking their heads and sighing.


	63. Rule 2215

**Rule 2215: Can the SCIENCE!Girls explain why we had to fend off a medieval-like army with fantasy-like monsters mixed in? Is this the result of one of your portal-based experiments? I ask it only because the fools have nearly captured Libeccio, and Little Sis Roma has go Mama Bear/Overprotective Big Sister on their collective asses... -Littorio.**

"Wow... so cool!"

Roma winced internally as Libeccio gaped in awe at the Altare della Patria. A colossal nationalist monument, the damn thing always made her feel uncomfortable due to memories of the fascist regime. Still, Libeccio's innocent enthusiasm quashed that discomfort under a tide of maternal pride. Oh, she was just so _cute!_ The battleship hastily suppressed _that_ , too, lest she cross the Nagamon barrier.

That awe turned somber ten minutes later when they skirted around the back of the monument and caught sight of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, two ceremonial guards standing at attention. Quickly crossing herself, Libeccio closed her eyes and clasped her hands in prayer.

 _'Good girl,'_ Roma thought, her hand twitching to try and reach out and ruffle her hair.

Then the screams started.

~o~

Later reports would show that the reaction to a colossal portal set inside a stone arch suddenly appearing in the middle of the Via Cavour was adamantly _not_ the response the authorities would have preferred: namely, everyone stopping to rubberneck and take pictures. Apparently, the Abyssal war had deadened everyone's instinctive reactions to the supernatural.

Then a bunch of humanoid pigs in crude armor and various bladed weapons began spilling out of the portal, and _then_ everyone began screaming and running.

Roma took all of this in with a veteran eye, especially when armored men on horseback began joining the... orcs? Orcs, yes. Already, soldiers assigned to security elsewhere in the capital were trying to push past the press of the crowd, and sirens could be heard in the distance. But that army was swelling rapidly, and while so far content to just assemble, if it reached the civilians...

"Libeccio!" she called out as she summoned her rigging. The drop in her fuel capacity prompted a wince, but hopefully she wouldn't be fighting for too long before Army aviation assets arrived to take off some of the pressure. "I need you to-"

A wing of horsemen split off from from the main body, charging southeast in a likely raiding maneuver.

"Slight change of plans, stop that column!" she ordered.

"Yes ma'am!" Libeccio barked, summoning her own rigging and charging off after the horsemen.

That taken care of, Roma sighted her AA guns downrange. No need for anything heavier, not in a knife fight with civilians nearby. And there was one tactical advantage to this situation: that portal was a _godawful_ choke point. And then she opened fire.

To the invaders down below, it was as if the sky was suddenly falling. A rain of 40mm and 20mm shells punched through armor, man, and horse alike before exploding in a spray of shrapnel, entire centuries melting away in seconds. 90mm shells slammed into tight knots of soldiers and orcs, burning, blasting, and cutting with shrapnel. And it was continuous, too, Roma's fairies constantly running more ammunition up to the guns.

Police and soldiers, meanwhile, were starting to arrive in numbers, and they went straight for the invaders at the edge of the rapidly receding crowd, clearing out knots that Roma couldn't risk firing into. That didn't mean she couldn't help there, though. Besides breaking up the larger formations, several dozen of her fairies, mostly damage control fairies that were probably not going to be needed, had grabbed rifles from her armory and had set to work improving their marksmanship on the plethora of live targets available.

Pressed from two sides, strange weaponry more powerful than they could imagine annihilating them as they exited the portal, the invaders did the only rational thing: they broke and ran. Their casualties ballooned as the defenders fired into their retreating backs, but Roma wasn't willing to end it at that. A message needed to be sent, and there was that nice portal there. At this range, she couldn't miss. Aiming a turret, she fired one of her 15" guns, loaded with a high-explosive shell, and fired it into the portal. Suck on that, assholes.

Thundering hooves caught her attention, and Roma turned to see the cavalry column, now noticeably smaller, thundering towards the gate. She turned her guns on them - and froze as she saw people draped over the backs of the horses, including...

Red.

Roma shot to her feet, scooped up her fairies, and sprinted straight for the gate. Those bastards had Libeccio; they were _not_ getting away with her.

Her boots thundered on the pavement, crushing asphalt, dirt, and millennia-old Roman paving stones alike. She ignored that. The riders, patently unable to miss 40,000 tons of battleship bearing down on them with all the subtlety of an angry grizzly bear, immediately gained expressions of panic. She filed that away for later schadenfreude. The captured civilians all brightened. She used that to stoke the fires of her heart.

The riders hit the portal, and Roma followed them like the hounds of Hades, roaring her battle cry at the top of her lungs.

"LIBECCIOOOOOOO!"

~o~

Admiral Colombo sighed at the absolute mess central Rome was in, then sent a grateful look at the gate sitting on the Via Cavour. Finally, something _other_ than riding herd on his shipgirls or trying to rejigger an operation that seemed more impossible than ever.

Casualties were light for something of this scale, thank God; Roma's timely intervention had completely thrown the invasion out of whack. And her rampage on the other side of the portal had served to completely shatter any attempts to organize a counterattack, not to mentioned secured the portal. Soldiers from the nearby spec ops base were busily cleaning out the last remnants, mostly these 'orc' things. The street had been shot up, but, well, only the most stodgy of academics cared about some smashed-up paving stones. The few hostages were safe and rescued.

Now, all they needed to do was figure out how the portal had been made in the first place. Which he was currently working on at the moment.

"You sure?" he said to the conference of admirals.

 _"Talked to Dakota and Phoenix myself,"_ Holloway answered.

 _"The Yuubaris have been busy for two weeks on something else. Still are, actually."_

 _"This isn't Provence's area of expertise, honestly."_

 _"Chapayev's still in her workshop. Has been for months."_

 _"Vanguard's been on convoy duty for the last three days."_

Well. That was a very good set of alibis. "So, the only reasonable conclusion is that the invaders did this." Colombo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's going to go over well. 'Oh, we have a second enemy now, one that can just _show up_ in national capitals with no warning!' Yeah, real well."

 _"Three enemies, if you count those new airship girls, and I really think we should,"_ Holloway pointed out. _"But I think you're overselling the problem. You just need to secure the existing portal, and get in touch with whoever's in charge on the other side. With Article 5 invoked, you'll get as much help as we can get you; the Army's jumping at the opportunity to be relevant again."  
_  
Colombo's eyes widened. That was incredibly fast with a _functional_ government. "How-"

 _"The White House may be a flaming dumpster fire these days, but they didn't miss the implications, either. Fast-tracked through Congress."  
_  
The Italian admiral nodded. Excellent. Whoever these invaders were, they were in for a rude shock...


	64. Rule 2220

**Rule 2220. The "Fletcher Volley Supreme Maneuver" is banned.  
**  
Detaching a carrier task group to the Mediterranean, Yorktown reflected, might have been a bad idea. That thought was then chased away by her survival instincts as she ducked under a dropping bomb. The Abyssals had taken the opportunity to throw a colossal force against them, dozens of carriers and battleships supported by a tide of cruisers and destroyers. And in a depressingly common situation for this war, she and her fellow carriers were too busy keeping the Abyssal carrier planes off everyone's backs to help out with the battleships.

Rising again, Yorktown blinked at the sound of a kazoo echoing over the battlefield. Looking around, she saw Smalley speed past her. Then Howorth, then Bearss*, and soon there was a steady stream of Fletchers heading for the battle line.

"Oh no."

And then she heard Essex groan those words, followed shortly by a slap to the forehead. Turning around, Yorktown asked, "What's wrong?"

"I didn't think they were actually _serious_ about using this tactic..."

"Essex!" Yorktown snapped. _"What_ tactic?!"

"ALRIGHT, KIDS, ARE YOU READY?!"

"AYE AYE, FLETCHER!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

 _"AYE AYE, FLETCHER!"  
_  
"THEN DO THE THING! ... I MEAN, IT'S TIME FOR THE FLETCHER VOLLEY SUPREME!"

 _"That_ tactic," Essex wearily replied.

"The what?!" Yorktown yelped at the same time.

And then her ears exploded.

Nah, not really, but over 800 5" guns firing at once was still a terrific amount of noise, even for shipgirls used to the thunder of their own guns. Yorktown staggered back, hands instinctively shooting up to cover her ears, especially as it continued, the destroyers firing as fast as their crews could load their guns. And glancing between the wall of battleships, the carrier could see torpedo wakes.

Lots of torpedo wakes.

Seconds passed. Long, ticking seconds. Veeeeery looooo-

"Where's the kaboom?" Yorktown cut in. "Shouldn't we be hearing a lot of big booms right about now?"

Essex opened her mouth to speak-

[Not that I'm complaining...] an Abyssal voice echoed over the battlefield. [But how do you fire 1750 torpedoes... AND MISS WITH EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM?!]

"Curses!" Fletcher shouted. "Okay, backup plan! Fletcher-Blizzard Banzai Charge, goooooo-!"

THWACK!

"Belay that!" Nicholas' voice bellowed. "Execute the Sir Robin Maneuver!"

As the Fletcher sisters bravely ran away, Yorktown cradled her head in her hands. "How are we not losing this war? How?"

~o~

"So…" Zenith drawled, leaning back in a booth at The Navy Inn. "Not only did you manage to rapid fire over seventeen _hundred_ fish at an Abyssal force at less than half their max range and fire over a ten thousand rounds of 5 inch, but you managed to completely fluff the aim and miss with every single shot that mattered and those that did hit did basically jack shite?" She raised a glass of Guinness to her lips and sipped from it as she observed the defeated looks on the faces of the two Fletchers opposite her and her sister. "Are your optics really that fucking bad or is that formation complete steaming dog faeces for torp boats?"

Zephyr let out a snort as she pushed blue-tipped black hair behind her ears. "To be fair sis, I think they were trying it without Will in the formation proper." She looked over at the destroyer currently trying to sink into the seat and disappear. Shifting slightly, she nudged her leg against the Fletcher, knowing that hearing about the screwy torpedo luck she had hurt the girl. "Had she been involved properly, it's likely they would have manage to at least hit something, probably by doing something screwy like trying to hit a cruiser and managing to sink the fleet carrier on the other side of the battle line given Willie's torpedo crew are that messed up, at least the ones running that one launcher of hers, but at least they would've hit something."

Willie raised her hand, opened her mouth and froze for a moment before dropping the hand into her lap and sinking further down in her seat. Another, a ship by the rather 'normal' name of Kimberly whimpered, slugging back a whisky that she had probably gotten through O'Bannon before slumping forward, burying her head in her arms. "It should've worked," Kimberly whimpered. "It was a fucking battle line, ships have been using that formation for centuries. We can't be that bad… can we?"

The two Z-Class destroyers shared a look. "I don't know what to tell you, Kim," Zenith sighed, reaching over to rub Kimberly's back. "That's got to be one of the worst actual combat clusterfucks I've seen in this war." She shook her head. "I just… this is obviously going in the List, but it's in the 'what the flaming fucking hell is this shit?' territory for us. The fish were less than half range, our bloody main batteries only really touch shit at around four miles out and that's spotty depending on motion and skill, a fish can hit at up to twice that with good aim and good luck leading the enemy… and this was while everyone was sitting still."

Willie sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't even drop any fish because I was afraid something like this would happen and it did anyway. I'm cursed."

"Bull and shite, Will," Zephyr snorted. "More like either one of your crew or something that was aboard or built into your hull is a magnet for Murph, but you ain't fucking cursed, else you wouldn't pull shit like managing to kill _battleships_ through screwing their fucking luck. Ya know, maybe we need to find one of the local 'unreal', see if there's some sorta luck thing fucking around on you and see if you can learn control on it. That or if it's crew evict their arses from your hull."

"Yeah… but…"

Zephyr rolled her eyes, pushing her drink aside so she could reach over and squeeze Willie's hand. "Hey, supernatural bullshit comes with the territory for kanmusu and I get it double, my sister's a bleeding Karas, you would not believe the amount of weird shite we see just normally, never fucking mind the MSSB, random ghost investigations and shite. We'll find somethin', somethin' that doesn't cause reality to hack up a hairball and rip the warp a new arsehole."

"What is going on with that thing anyway?" Zenith asked, looking over at her sister.

"Fuck knows, doesn't seem to be spitting any shit out that I've heard of but given that our dimensional barrier seems to be Swiss cheesed, that ain't saying much," Zephyr shrugged before looking at the wall clock. "Guess we'd better finish up. Ya want me and Meg to have you over tonight girls or would you rather bunk at the base?"

"Um…"

Zenith and Willie looked at one another. "Yours," they said simultaneously.

~o~

Lying on her bed in the house Zephyr and Megan Jones, and most of the rest of the Z-Class (when they were in port) shared, Willie stared up at the darkened ceiling. What had happened the other day? Sure, they had fucked up properly, but why? Even her luck genie wasn't that bad.

Frowning to herself, she went over the Fletcher battle line again. Fletcher had ordered them to volley fire the Abyssals and drop their fish in the water, she had done the first but not the second given her torpedo issues. She hadn't fired her torpedoes.

Blinking, she slipped out of the bed and padded down to the living room. After being here so often, she knew the way in the dark.

Stepping into the room, she flicked the lights, summoned her rigging and pulled out one of her loaded torpedoes, turning it over carefully in her hands.

Longer and heavier than the usual Mk. 14s and with a yellow nose. "Why do I have a Mk. 15 torpe- oh you have _got_ to be shitting me," she muttered, slipping the torpedo back into her rigging and dismissing it. If she remembered her history right, Mk. 15s had a Mk. 6 contact trigger, which nine times out of ten didn't trigger. Scowling to herself, she muttered a few more curses as she made her way back to bed. She needed to look over the AAR in the morning, maybe see if a subgirl could steal the abyssal version.

~o~

Three days later, the Fletcher sisterhood was still despondent, with two exceptions. Fletcher was still her optimistic self, and trying to cheer everyone up. It didn't work. William D. Porter was _pissed off,_ and avoiding everyone doing God knows what. They let her.

Until today, when Willie D. called everyone in to one of the conference rooms.

"I don't think we need to go over the utter _fiasco_ that was the Fletcher Volley Supreme," she started, drawing depressed sighs from all her sisters. "Still, with a result that bad, with usually competent shipgirls, something's up. So, I did a little digging. First of all..."

Reaching into her rigging, sitting off to the side, she grabbed a torpedo and dropped it on the podium. "I didn't actually fire my torpedoes; too many people around me to risk my luck screwing with the launch somehow. Afterwards, I checked them, and I don't know whether it was the food we ate before the sortie or just MSSB fucking with us at exactly the right time, but these-" This was accompanied by her waving the torpedo around. "Are early-batch Mk. 15s, and I mean _early_ -batch."

The older of the Fletchers paled, while the younger ones just glanced in confusion at each other. Finally, Kidd raised her hand. "Uh, how early is early-batch?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Willie pulled out and waved around a stack of papers. "This is an Abyssal AAR that I paid Shark to yoink. Don't ask me how, just be sure to buy her some ice cream because it couldn't have been easy." She flipped through some of the pages, finally selecting one. "As it turns out, about a quarter of our torpedoes actually hit, which is pretty damn good considering, well, early-war Mk. 15s. Or terrible, considering our usual hit rate. Anyway, there was just a _slight_ problem."

You could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. "Oh, you've got to be _shitting_ me..." O'Bannon finally groaned.

Willie nodded grimly. "Yup. Duds. Every. Single. One of them. One of the Ta-class that was in that force is described coming back to their base looking like she'd sat on a porcupine."

"I swear to SecNav," Nicholas growled. "That I will _travel back in time_ to 1930, go to NTS, and _shove_ these damn things _up their asses, **sideways!"**_


	65. Rule 2222

**Rule 2222. Fletcher, when we said 'talk some sense into Bush', we meant your sister, not the ex-presidents.  
**  
Nicholas groaned as she read the report Dace had dropped off on her desk. How Bush thought _aliens_ were about to invade, she had no idea. And she was not looking forward to talking her younger sister down. She had enough shit to do as it was managing the fallout from the epic failure from two weeks ago.

Donkey-like laughter drifted her ears, and she turned her gaze on Fletcher, sitting on a couch in a t-shirt and shorts, watching TV and laughing with a bag of microwave popcorn in her hand. Something inside Nicholas snapped at the sight, though thankfully nothing _too_ critical. Alright, if Fletcher didn't want to be a good big sister, she'd just have to _make_ her be one!

Step one, whap her with the book she was carrying.

"Ow!" Fletcher whined, clutching her head. "Ah, Nikky! What was that for?!"

"First, don't call me 'Nikky'," Nicholas groused. "Second, I need you to talk some sense into Bush. I'd do it myself, but I have other things I need to take care of."

Fletcher blinked once, twice, and then grinned a sunny grin. "Sure thing! Just let me get changed, and I'll be on my way!" And with that, she scampered off.

Satisfied that the problem was taken care of, Nicholas continued her march. Rooks had said something about live chess...

~o~

[I just want to thank you again for seeing me, and for the advice,] Wreck said, shaking the hand of the old man she'd visited.

"It's no problem, Miss Wreck," George W. Bush said, a smile on his face. "It was good to meet you and get some assurances."

[Of course, of course. And good luck with your paintings, Mr. Bush.]

A knock at the door precluded another reply from the former President, and both frowned.

[You expecting someone?]

"No."

Wreck walked up to the door and swung it open, blinking at the sight of a young girl in a priest's outfit and carrying a Bible standing on the doorstep. _'The fuck?'_ Looking a little closer told her that this was, in fact, a destroyer of the Fletcher class, which only made things weirder.

"Is Mr. Bush in?" the destroyer asked, all smiles and good cheer. "Nikky said I needed to talk some sense into him! And I totally agree! If people are throwing shoes at you, you're doing _something_ nonsensi... nonsu... uh..."

The destroyer - _'Right, Fletcher, that one.'_ \- frowned and started thinking hard, Wreck easily imagining burned-out vacuum tubes. Taking the opportunity, Wreck ran through the conversation, trying to make sense of things. Why would a destroyer be here to 'talk some sense' into George Bush, of all people? He hadn't been nationally relevant for over a decade. And Nicholas was, to all appearances, a sensible destroyer. No, there had to be some other explanation.

And then the Abyssal part of her threw up a name, and everything clicked.

[I'm pretty sure Nicholas meant USS Bush.] A blank stare. [The destroyer shipgirl.] Blank stare intensifies. [Your _sister!]  
_  
"I have a sister named Bush?"

Wreck groaned, cradling her head in her hands as her tail snaked around to glare at Fletcher. For her part, the destroyer remained cutely oblivious.

[Yes, you do,] was her muffled reply. [Go bother her, and not the ex-President, okay?]

"Okay!" Fletcher cheerfully replied, before prancing off. Wreck watched her go before shaking her head.

[Did she get dropped on her head right after the summoning ceremony...?]

"Uh, Miss Wreck?" she heard Bush call out from deeper in the house. "Who was that?"

[Trust me, Mr. Bush, you don't want to know.]


	66. Rule 2225

**Rule 2225. Yes, you are technically your own captains. And yes, in some countries, captains can officiate marriages. No, that ability does not extend to you.  
**  
Tenryuu yawned in the crisp morning air, stretching her arms above her head. The last expedition she and Desdiv 6 had been on had been sufficiently long and exhausting that Tenryuu had simply pulled a couple of tents and five sleeping bags out of her hold and thrown an impromptu camping trip. Now, with the morning dawning, she was sitting outside her tent, watching the sunrise.

"Ha! I found you, Tenryuu!"

Sighing as Kiso's shouting voice shattered the morning calm, Tenryuu stood and peeked over her tent. The other chuuniboat looked... different. And not good different, either. Strange, archaic kanji had been sewn or dyed into her usual outfit, and her torso was covered in an improvised armor of what appeared to be miniaturized coconut logs held together with rope. Her sword was not one of her usual blades, nor was it Kitetsu; instead, it was the depleted uranium katana the Yuubaris had made for her a while back. The one that happily cut through steel and never dulled, because the damn thing was self-sharpening. And her eyes... well. Her eyes were simultaneously focused and completely out of it, somehow. Not to mention the wide, demented grin on her face was exposing bits of Abyssal machinery stuck in her teeth, which were still dyed black with their ichor.

Tenryuu stared, unable to decide whether to laugh or scream. She instead settled for a drier-than-dust "What."

The grin Kiso was wearing didn't waver. "Hey, Tenryuu," she said, her voice a good octave higher than normal. "Like my new look? I've decided I was _waaaay_ too hasty every other time we've fought. So I prepared! I've been practicing all the hours of the day, I've eaten, like, a dozen Abyssals to ramp up my fighting spirit, I got Ryuujo to teach me how to draw protective symbols, and I also nicked the Yuubaris' new energy drink!"

Her rival's stare didn't waver, either. "So let me get this straight," she said in a voice of strained incredulity. "You've grabbed your most lethal sword and hopped yourself up on drugs and MSAB*, all to settle a rivalry?"

One of Kiso's eyebrows twitched, the grip on her sword hilt visibly tightening. "A rivalry?!" she shrieked. "Is that what you think this is?!"

"Uh, yes? I mean, it could get out of hand, but-"

Suddenly, Kiso began to laugh, a high, shrill laugh that jammed a chunk of ice down Tenryuu's spine. And then Kiso locked eyes with her, and she wished for the laughter back.

"It was always supposed to be me!" she shrieked. "I was newer! Bigger! I was fighting _real_ battles while you were babysitting merchantmen! _I_ should have been the badass swordswoman, the second coming of Chuck Norris, not some cow-titted obsolete old rustbucket!" Panting, Kiso didn't give her rival a chance to respond to the insults. "But I'll show you, and show everyone else who called me a 'cut-rate Tenryuu' when it should have been the other way around! I'll beat you, and then I'll beat that tabloid reporter Aoba, and then the author of that stupid 'Badass of the Week' thing, and-"

"Yeah, yeah, everyone who ever badmouthed you, can we fight now, please?" Tenryuu interrupted, her sword drawn and nonchalantly braced on her shoulder and entire demeanor radiating boredom.

The other eyebrow twitched, and Kiso pulled out her sword. "Yes. Let's. Imperial Lion's Anthem!"

"Imperial _what?!"_ Tenryuu yelped as the sword came out of its sheath and released a visible wave from its blade. The light cruiser dove to the side, her eyes widening as the wave carved a glass-smooth trench in the ground, not stopping until it hit the sea and went for the horizon. "Oh, shitbiscuits."

After that, there was no time for thinking or attacking. Kiso created a veritable cage of uranium in front of her, each slash releasing another one of those wind blades. Every single one of them had to be dodged, and Tenryuu still collected several nicks in the process. Still, her inability to land a hit was visibly angering her crazed opponent. Not to mention the shrill whistle Tenryuu still had enough spare brainpower to generate.

"Stand still so I can filet you!" Kiso roared, pulling back her sword and charging.

"I've got a better idea!" Tenryuu declared, grabbing her eye patch and flipping it up. "HEAVENLY DRAGON BEAM!"

Her artificial eye glowed, releasing a pencil-thin beam of green energy - one that Kiso promptly split with her sword.

"Wow," Tenryuu deadpanned. "That is incredibly unfair." Raising her sword, she blocked a wild swing from Kiso, both blades creaking from the full strength of the shipgirls wielding them. And to her dismay, Tenryuu found herself on the back foot and being pushed back.

 _'C'mon, girls, what's taking you so long?!'  
_  
"I'm going to enjoy this," Kiso hissed. "Finally, once and for all, I-"

BOOM! BOOM! B-B-BOOM! ZZT!

Suddenly, Kiso was hit from behind by both a barrage of shells, and several large lightning bolts. Back arching, she involuntarily broke the lock with her opponent, something Tenryuu was all too happy to exploit. Tapping her sword onto the back of her free hand, she swung it up into Kiso's chin.

"RYUSHOSEN!"

The resulting impact not only cut a nasty gash into Kiso's jaw line, but also crunched her teeth together and lifted her up into the air. Nerves still twitching from the lightning and now mildly punch-drunk, she was simply a rag doll that Tenryuu punched square in the schnozz with as much windup as she could get. Contrary to the usual experience, Kiso did not go flying. She fell back some, but otherwise just crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Whew," Tenryuu sighed, turning towards the fully kitted out Desdiv 6. "What took you guys so long?"

"A lady never sleeps in her clothes!" Akatsuki sniffed haughtily.

"Which means she had to either get dressed, or run out in her underwear," Ikazuchi drawled. "One guess which one she did."

"Well, whatever," Tenryuu shrugged, Akatsuki turning beet red. "We should get her to Akashi. I'd bet my sword that she's super toxic from either the Abyssals she ate or that stimulant she mentioned."

"I have a repair bucket, nanodesu," Inazuma volunteered, pulling out that exact device.

"Also, we need to make sure she never does something like this again," Ikazuchi added, Hibiki nodding along. "She was seriously gonna kill you, Tenryuu!"

"I agree on all counts, and I won't ask where you got the bucket, Inazuma, but what can we do besides hand her over to the MPs?"

Silence for a few seconds, and then Akatsuki spoke up. "I have an idea..."

~o~

Kiso came to quickly, and immediately pinned Tenryuu with a glare. "Alright, so you cheated and won," she spat. "Now what are you gonna do to me, huh? HOW ARE YOU GOING TO HUMILIATE ME THIS TIME, TENRYUU?!" She paused, suddenly processing the twin facts that a. she was down to her underwear and b. she was tied up into a sleeping bag. "Where are my clothes?!"

"We took 'em off," Tenryuu blithely answered. "Had to get the symbols offa you. Anyway, _I'm_ not going to do anything."

Briefly, Kiso believed that meant nothing would happen to her, and then Akatsuki stepped forward. An extremely adult Akatsuki. An extremely adult Akatsuki with a sultry look on her face and a cup of coffee that from smell alone Kiso knew was blacker than an Abyssal's shriveled heart.

"Oh fuck me."

"Sorry, but I don't swing that way," Akatsuki purred. Leaning forward, she jabbed a finger into Kiso's forehead. "More importantly, you're outta control, young lady! Drugs, attempted homicide... you need to settle down! In fact, you need someone to settle you down! You need a wife!"

From the look of shock on Tenryuu's face, that wasn't what she was expecting. Hibiki, Inazuma, and Ikazuchi were similarly gobsmacked. Kiso herself felt her jaw flapping uselessly in the morning breeze. A destroyer girl walked past.

Akatsuki looked her way and nodded. "She'll do."

Everything stopped. Including, for several seconds, Kiso's heart.

"What," she finally got out.

"What," Tenryuu agreed.

"What," the remainder of Desdiv 6 chorused.

"I'm sorry, what?" the confused destroyer girl asked, pointing at herself. "Did you need me for something?"

"Yes. I need you to marry Kiso," Akatsuki said, stepping up to the destroyer and looking her dead in the eye. "She needs to be calmed down, so she needs a wifey. Okay?"

The destroyer hangs her head, clearly embarrassed, and Kiso feels relief flood her. No doubt Akatsuki will find another shipgirl willing to marry her, but that'll take time, time she can use to-

"Okay."

...

what

The destroyer raised her head, a bashful but happy grin on her face, and Kiso found herself unable to look away. "Hi! I'm Hokaze," she said, beaming. "Let's make a happy family together, Kiso!"

That finally jarred something loose in her brain and enabled Kiso to make a straight thought. "But- destroyer!"

"Ah, if you're worried about the age difference, don't! I'm a Minekaze, I'm older than you."

"But-"

"Well, it's settled, then!" Akatsuki said, clapping her hands together. "Inazuma! Find Tatsuta, have her get the dresses ready!"

"Yes, nanodesu!"

"I call minister!" Tenryuu immediately stated.

Nodding, Akatsuki turned to Hibiki. "Go get Junyo, we need decorations, stat!"

"Da."

Finally, Kiso turned back to what she hoped was the last bastion of sanity available: Ikazuchi. "Ikazuchi, please-"

"Sometimes, it's best to go with the madness," the destroyer interrupted. She then pinned her with a shit-eating grin. "And honestly? You not only have this coming, it's gonna be fucking _hilarious_."

Faced with that, Kiso could only groan and brace herself for the coming insanity.

~o~

After two hours of whirlwind decorating and dressing (both Junyo and Tatsuta had been _entirely_ too enthusiastic about the rush job), Kiso found herself in a wedding dress, holding a decidedly excited Hokaze's hand (also in a wedding dress), Inazuma and Ikazuchi acting as bridesmaids, and the chapels seats stuffed full with her sisters, Hokaze's sisters, and Hibiki, Junyo, and Tatsuta watching the proceedings with ill-disguised amusement.

Misinterpreting the look of horror on Kiso's face, Hokaze leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry, darling. I promise we'll have a very happy life with lots of babies! I'll be sure to take very good care of you!"

Somehow paling even further, Kiso desperately cast her gaze around for an out, and it fell on Tenryuu, who was standing up front in priestly garb with a Bible in hand. "You can't do this! You're not an ordained priest!"

"You're right, I'm not," Tenryuu replied, causing a butterfly of hope to sprout in Kiso's breast. "But I'm a shipgirl, which means I'm captain of my own ship, and since captains can officiate weddings..." Aaaand there went the butterfly, eaten by a passing frog doing a tapdance in her gut.

"Anyway, let's continue!" Tenryuu stated cheerfully. "The love between these two is plain, so let's skip to the good stuff. Akatsuki, the rings."

By now, Kiso was utterly numb, and she didn't resist as Akatsuki stepped forward with two gold bands on a velvet pillow (where'd she even gotten the rings?), and slipped them on the couple's fingers. Ooi, Tama, and the Minekaze sisters all squealed in delight at the sight, Tatsuta also letting out a romantic sigh.

"Anyway," Tenryuu continued, clearly enjoying herself. "Hokaze, do you take Kiso to be your bride?"

"Yes, please!" Hokaze squealed.

"And Kiso, do you take Hokaze to be your bride?"

Restarting higher brain functions...

"Hell no!" Kiso yelped.

"Well, since there are no objections to this marriage..."

"I object! I object super strongly, you shitty priest!"

"Then I hereby declare you two married! Hokaze, please claim your bride with a kiss!"

Kiso whirled around to the destroyer. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking-!"

Hokaze promptly silenced that objection with full lip on lip contact. Lip on lip contact that stretched on for more than a minute before the click of a camera shutter caught everyone's attention.

"Two shipgirls getting _married?!"_ Aoba said gleefully. "This almost makes up for missing E's and Yamato's pregnancy! I may not be able to report anymore, but _one_ of the newspaper people will want these pics."

And there went Kiso's last hope: the hope that this would simply blow over without anyone else hearing about it. "No..." she said, her voice flatter than cheap paper. "Please... don't go..."

Aoba ignored her plea and scampered out, cackling under her breath, to the sound of cheering Minekaze class - and Kitakami's howls of laughter. Finally, it all seems to sink in for Kiso, and she does the only thing she could.

" **NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"**

 ***Magical Spooky Abyssal Bullshit**


	67. Rule 2230

**New** **Rule 2230. If you actually manage to put an Abyssal ship into the air, the appropriate response is "Look out!", not "Team Rocket's blasting off again!"  
**  
Another day, another run into the waters south of Borneo for Japan's destroyer squadrons. Despite the hot, dangerous work, most preferred it to what the Americans had to do: going out to smash the many, many mobile Abyssal Installations sitting in the isolated waters of the Pacific and throwing ships at San Diego. Those Installations were old, many dating back to the very start of the war, and as such were both canny and extremely powerful. The only silver lining was that new ones weren't popping up, either in the Pacific or elsewhere, else this war might have been endless.

It might still be, if this mysterious 'Director' wasn't apprehended - or killed.

"I'm getting maudlin in my old age," Isuzu muttered, running her fingers through the air. Then again, working with newly-summoned Yugumo-class destroyers tended to do that to you.

"Uh, stay in formation, everyone! Oh, I'm sorry, _please_ stay in formation, everyone!"

Isuzu glanced over her shoulder to where Okinami was trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to herd her sisters. Stuttering apologies weren't much help when you had to lead. Taking pity on the poor girl, Isuzu flipped around and glared at the other three. "Hayanami, Hamanami, Kishinami," she said sternly, the trio quailing under her gaze. "Listen to your sister, alright?"

"Y-Yes ma'am!" they barked.

They fell in line after that, and Okinami sent Isuzu a grateful look.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm sorry you had to do that..."

"Eh, I probably shouldn't be leaving them to you anyway," Isuzu replied dismissively. "You-"

Suddenly, the light cruiser's radio crackled; from the channel, it was from Shimakaze, who was currently leading her sisters on another sweep some miles away. Keying the reply button, she said, "Yes?"

 _"You've got incoming!"  
_  
"Incoming what?" she asked, eyes reflexively sweeping the skies. "Planes? Ships? What?"

 _"Well,_ a ship, _but-"  
_  
Suddenly, her eyes fell on some black thing in the sky. A black thing that, as it rapidly descended, resolved itself into a screaming Tsu-class cruiser. AA cruiser or not, no way was she stopping that before it hit something solid.

"Scatter!" she barked, pleased that the destroyers immediately did exactly that. The screaming Abyssal smacked into the sea, came up coughing - and immediately ate several torpedoes. Literally. Isuzu winced as the light cruiser's head was reduced to a fine red mist. "What the hell, Shimakaze?!"

 _"Sorry, sorry, my sisters were acting up again..."  
_  
Isuzu groaned; of course they were...

~o~

 _Five minutes ago  
_  
Shimakaze bared her teeth as she exchanged gunfire with the Abyssal destroyers they'd run into - and were currently running circles around. Being based mostly on American designs, Abyssal destroyers, a few specialized and very rare variants aside, topped out at the 37 knots - when they were healthy. Easy pickings for 40-knotters like herself and her sisters.

Beside her, Soyokaze was cheering, transcribing a highly erratic course that nonetheless kept her within gun range of the Abyssals. It was, by all appearances, thoroughly confounding to the poor beasts.

Overall, the destroyer was having the time of her life - at least, until a cry of _"TEAM ROCKET'S BLASTING OFF AGAIN!"_ echoed over the water. Head jerking up, she just caught sight of the Tsu-class leading this motley pack soaring off into the sky in the direction of Isuzu's group. She shifted her gaze to Kiyokaze and Ōkaze, who both had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"I don't mind you sending Abyssals flying," she said, her voice hard and flat. "But next time, I want a warning, not a meme. Got it?"

"Y-Yes, sis," they both said. Shimakaze nodded, turned, and sighed, keying her radio. Isuzu was not going to be happy about this...


	68. Rule 2233

**Rule 2233. You may not tie yourselves to any number of balloons so you can fly during sortie or for any reason.**

"Hoppo-chan!"

Heads swiveled towards Nagato as she swept through the base, searching for Hoppo, then went back to their tasks as she inevitably moved on. Nobody wanted to get involved with a rampaging Nagamon; at least, not if they couldn't point her to where her adopted daughter was.

And, inevitably, someone could.

"Oh, I saw her blowing up balloons out on the docks," a sailor explained. "A _lot_ of balloons. Like, stupid amounts of balloons." He paused, thinking. "Actually, I'm pretty sure they were weather balloons, not commercial party balloons."

Eyes widening in proper panic, Nagato turned and sprinted for the docks, skidding to a halt to see Hoppo floating in a lawn chair attached to a few dozen weather balloons, a sturdy rope keeping her tethered to the concrete. The battleship breathed a sigh of relief, and began walking towards the young-looking Abyssal.

"Oh, thank goodness, you scared me, Hoppo-chan," she said. "Now climb down from there, sweetie, it's not safe."

SNAP!

Nagato froze as the Hoppo grabbed the rope and snapped it with a hard yank.

If either of them expected Hoppo to just lazily float into the air - and Nagato did, from the lunge she immediately made - they were immediately disabused of that notion as Hoppo outright _rocketed_ into the air, leaving Nagato to skid uselessly on the concrete. Looking up, she saw Hoppo streaking well past the 100-foot mark and clawing for more altitude.

"NOOOOOOOO! HOPPOOOOOOOOO!"

Up in the air, Hoppo herself wasn't that much happier. [This was a bad ideaaaaaa!] she wailed as air rushed past her. Finally, after several heart-stopping minutes, her ascent slowed, and then came to a halt. Slowly, the Abyssal opened her eyes, glanced down - and _immediately_ wished she hadn't.

[Oooooh, I'm really high up,] she whimpered. A gulp. [I think I can survive a fall. Probably.] Somehow, that wasn't very reassuring. She glanced up at the balloons, and considered popping a few with her guns. Suddenly, a slight gust sent her, her chair, and the balloons swaying. Luckily, it was a short swaying, and Hoppo soon disengaged her death grip on the armrests. [Yeah, no. Not doing that.]

Sighing, she settled back in the chair and grabbed a Coke from the small cooler she'd attached to the chair.

[Might as well enjoy the flight.]

~o~

Seaplane Tender Princess sighed, still staring out over the Pacific ocean. Beside her, her two XOs - a veteran Ne-class heavy cruiser and an equally veteran Ta-class battleship - exchanged weary glances and fought the urge to sigh themselves.

[She's still like this,] the Ne muttered.

[Well, can you blame her?] the Ta shrugged. [It sucks to be loyal and yet have everyone think you're not.]

[And all because she just _looks_ like one of those damn shipgirls,] the Ne spat. [Ugh. I swear, if I ever get my hands on any of the Northern Ocean Princess line-]

[You'll be eviscerated in ten seconds. Eight for monologuing, one to laugh at you, and one for the eviscerating,] the Ta deadpanned.

[Let me dream, dammit!]

The two fell into a companionable - if somewhat sulky - silence. A silence that was broken some time later by the Seaplane Tender Princess.

[Oh? What's that?]

Another glance passed between them, and both lesser Abyssals followed their boss's gaze to the sky. What they saw was _not_ what they were expected.

[That's a Northern Ocean Princess,] the Ne deadpanned. [In a lawn chair. Held aloft by _balloons_.] She paused. [Oh, and there are a couple of F-15s flying high escort. Just so you know.]

[Good catch on the F-15s,] the Ta stated. [Though I'm more worried about the Nagato charging at us at flank speed.]

The Ne glanced back down to the surface, and immediately wished she hadn't. Nagato looked like she was being animated by Studio Trigger or drawn by Go Nagai, though in a slight silver lining she wasn't in any of her Super Nagamon forms yet.

[Yeah, I can see why.]

[This is perfect!] the Seaplane Tender Princess suddenly declared. [We'll defeat the traitor, defeat Nagato, and then we'll be hailed as heroes!]

Ne and Ta stared at their boss, then at the charging Nagato, and then back up to Hoppo, one of the strongest Installations on the planet.

[We're gonna die, aren't we?] the former stated in resignation.

[Yeah, probably.]

In the event, they didn't die. Seaplane Tender Princess, out in the front, got the brunt of the damage: namely, a boot to the face, Nagato using her as a springboard to get up to Hoppo as she slowly drifted down. With the battleship distracted by hugging and cooing, the two Abyssals snuck close to their boss and then dragged her away.

[That was _way_ too close...]

[You said it.]


	69. Rule 2236

**Rule 2236. Following last week's incident in which the contents of this list were leaked to the Internet, we are pleased to announce that the Wo-Class carrier based on the Solomon Islands has declared truce on us. Before you start celebrating, she did so "until the time comes that that rabble you call a fleet is fit for duty". Just...** ** _think_** **about that for a moment.**

Admiral Goto signed off the last bit of paperwork for the day, let out a contented groan, stretched back in his chair - and then popped an antacid. Very little had happened over the last week that wasn't routine. The anticipation was enough to drive a man to drink.

Oh wait. It did.

Just as Goto was about to reach for the sake bottle concealed in one of his desk drawers, a knock on the door sounded out, and relief flooded him. "Come in!" he called out, Ooyodo poking her head in.

"Sir? Aoba's here to see you, says we have a problem."

"Not just _a_ problem!" shouted the heavy cruiser through the door. "The _biggest_ problem! The worst. Possible. Thing!"

Mentally shrugging at the heavy cruiser's melodramatics, Goto stated, "Let her in." Nodding, Ooyodo swung the door open, Aoba practically sprinting inside.

"The List has been leaked," she said without preamble.

Suddenly, Goto found himself wishing for the anticipation back.

"Where... how..." he choked out. Mentally, the one part of him not gibbering in panic noted that this was, indeed, the "Worst. Possible. Thing!" The List was exactly the sort of thing tailor-made to go viral, and once it did, the navies of the world would be the laughingstock of the Seven Seas. Worse, the Diet and Congress and all the rest of the government bodies would be breathing down their necks now that they knew that what their militaries were telling them was, quite literally, only the tip of the iceberg.

"Uploaded to several image-sharing sites via PDF scanner," Aoba answered. "Crude and time-consuming, but it worked. So far, no one quite believes it, but that's going to change soon, and my sockpuppet accounts can only do so much."

That gave Goto something concrete for his mind to latch onto. "Is there any chance we can stop this?"

Aoba snorted derisively. "Nope. We try to deny this, it's going to just convince people to look. The only thing we can do is keep our mouths shut and hope this blows over."

 _"Probably_ too late for that..." came Ooyodo's voice from the outer office. "Aoba, I'm sending you the relevant stream."

Frowning, the heavy cruiser pulled out her phone, opened it up - and immediately began swearing in five different languages.

Swapping between the purple-faced Aoba and ashen Ooyodo, Goto bit the bullet. "What's on the stream?"

"Kiyokaze and Soyokaze on a shopping trip confirming The List for everyone," Ooyodo groaned. "Specifically, the part about how they were created."

Welp. If _that_ episode didn't convince everyone, there weren't many things on The List that were more fantastical. And yet, for some reason, the Admiral felt a sort of Zen calm. For once, aside from finding the culprit, this was out of his hands. All he needed to do was tell Aoba to-

"Sir, Kiso on the line," Ooyodo reported.

Frowning, Goto queued up his... computer? The light cruiser's face popped up on the screen - with Hokaze hanging onto her arm. He smirked; as much as he didn't want a stunt like that happening again, he'd been happy to sign off on the marriage. Maybe it would tone down Kiso's chuuni tendencies; in the meantime, it was absolutely hilarious. And the only reason Kongo hadn't beaten the couple to the punch was her own dithering, so no stress on that front.

Anyway...

"Kiso. Report," he said. He frowned as a Wo-class carrier wandered into the background.

 _"Hey, Admiral. Y'know that Wo who's been giving us trouble in the Solomons?"_ Kiso jabbed a thumb at said Wo. _"Yeah, that's her, and she wants a truce. Until, and I quote, 'The time comes that that rabble you call a fleet is fit for duty.'"_

 _[I will also take the opportunity to drill my forces. That we haven't won yet is an embarrassment,]_ the Abyssal in question added.

Goto was silent for several seconds, until Aoba asked, "Are you alright, Admiral?"

"Amazingly, yes," he replied. "Tell, uh..."

 _"Woe. With an 'e' at the end."  
_  
"Right. Tell her that I can provisionally accept that, pending a more detailed agreement. Also, ask her if she's been tapping the Internet cables."

Frowning, Kiso turned away and entered a quick, hushed conversation with Woe. A nod, and she was back at the camera. _"She says that's fine, and that yes, she has been tapping the cables. Likes cat videos and Jackass, apparently."  
_  
"Of course she does..."


	70. Rule 2237

**Rule 2237. No putting hits out on other shipgirls.**

Though negotiations were still ongoing, the non-hostility of the Hawaii-based Central Princess had opened up several islands and atolls to the south. Of these, Johnston Atoll was the most important, no that any of the fleet commands knew it. It was there that shipgirls could go to meet Hawaii-based Abyssals, ostensibly for training. For the most part, this was true, but sometimes... sometimes the meetings were for much more... nefarious purposes.

The shipgirl sitting under a palm tree on the sand in a long cloak, phone in hand, was clearly here for the latter. As was the unidentified Abyssal steaming up the lagoon, which prompted the shipgirl to stow her phone. The two met in the center of the lagoon, staring for a long second at each other.

Finally, the Abyssal spoke. [So. Who do you want dead?]

Wordlessly, the shipgirl reached under her cloak and pulled out four photographs that she handed over to the Abyssal. Said Abyssal took one look at them and nearly dropped the laminated paper into the lagoon in sheer shock.

[You want me to kill _these_ shipgirls?!] A nod. [Fuck... okay, look, I know I guarantee the kills in my ads, but against these four? I can't guarantee much of _anything_. Hell, I can't even do it myself; even if I succeeded I'd be hunted down and killed.]

Her client nodded. "I understand," she said softly. "And if it doesn't work, you'll still get paid."

The Abyssal relaxed somewhat. [Alright. You've sent the payment?] A nod, one much better welcomed. [Alright. I'll send out the word. I'll get back to you in two weeks. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Grinning, Naka threw back her hood and grasped the Abyssal's hand. "No, thank _you._ "

~o~

Enterprise sipped at her Coke as Yoshino happily played with her new "toys". The quartet of heavy cruisers that had popped out of the water to get at her had taken her off guard, but they clearly hadn't counted on Yoshino, who had immediately decided she wanted to play with these new people. To Enterprise's delight, Yoshino had proven immune to 8" fire (nice to confirm that), and _way_ overpowered the hapless Abyssals. Three were currently sprawled out in groaning, bruised lumps; the third was being repeatedly driven head-first into the ground, Yoshino letting out a delighted "Gaba!" with every impact.

One of the downed Abyssals took a break from watching the carnage to glare at Enterprise. [You're a monster...]

"Ayup." Standing up from the wall she was leaning on, she stalked over to the downed Abyssal and stomped her boot into its head. "And don't you forget it."

~o~

"Yow!" Indefatigable (the sailing frigate, not the aircraft carrier) yelped as a shell passed over her head. "Bloody hell, who did I piss off _this_ time to merit this kind of treatment?"

'This kind of treatment' was a Ta-class battleship and eight destroyers chasing her through the Channel, firing as they went and rapidly closing on her.

"Damn it, I'm built for subhunting, not this!" she growled. "Now where's that damn- there! Finally!"

Tacking about, Indefatigable slowed as she edged into one of the minefields littering the channel, this one freshly laid by a fast minelayer just the previous day. The Abyssals didn't know that and, sensing weakness, charged towards her at full speed.

"Argh!"

Finally, one of the destroyers got lucky, planting a 5" shell on her shoulder that promptly exploded, disabling the arm and lighting her on fire.

 _'Thank God for modern fire suppression,'_ she thought as she coasted to a stop, her fairies smothering the fires as the Abyssals moved in for the kill-

KA-BOOM!

And rran right into the mines.

"Fucking _A,"_ Indefatigable crowed. _  
_

~o~

The Abyssal Martyr Empress grinned savagely as she held a Re-class battleship up by the neck, the dismembered bodies of her compatriots scattered around her and the battleship's severed tail in her other hand.

[So, who sent you?] she said. [That bitch in Singapore? One of the damn Japs? Or perhaps the Island Siege Empress is afraid big sis Pennsy and I will be sent next?]

[Fuck... you...] the Re growled.

[Sorry. You're not my type.] And with a flick of her wrist, she snapped the Abyssal's neck. As the body slumped to the floor, joined by the tail, the Abyssal Martyr Empress eyed the door heading outside. To freedom. To her true fiefdom! The Central Princess would listen, she was sure.

[Heheheheheh... hahahahahaha! Free!] she crowed as she burst through the door and onto the water. [Hawaii, here I-!]

Her ecstatic flight was cut short as a tungsten carbide-tipped dart hit her neck, promptly delivering its load of tranquilizers. Nearly a kilometer away, Pennsylvania let out a low whistle as California lowered her air rifle.

"Nice shot," Pennsylvania remarked.

"She's not going anywhere. Get her meds."

~o~

Bismarck checked her watch, and let out a sigh through her nose. Where the hell was Hood? They were supposed to meet to go shopping an hour ago at her house! A knock on the door sounded out, and she shot to her feet, a rant forming in her mind.

Opening the door, she said, "Hood! Where have you-!" only to cut herself off at the state of her friend.

The battlecruiser was burned, bruised, cut, scraped, and all-around battered. In several spots she had holes running all the way through her. A good quarter of her head was just _gone_. Her rigging was in even worse condition, a single banged-up 15" turret remaining, and the less said about her clothes, the better.

"Hey, Bisko," she said weakly. "Apparently it was 'Pick on Hood' day today. Also, I found a bunch of shells. They were in my spleen."

"No shit," Bismarck snapped, ushering Hood in and moving her towards the hot tub, which had been configured for repairs after an unfortunate kidnapping. "You get in that tub, and you tell me what happened."

It was several minutes longer before Hood was in good enough shape to talk, and even longer before it was finished, but once it was over Bismarck felt she had an answer.

"Who the fuck put a _hit_ out on you?"

Hood poked her head out of the water to give her friend a quizzical look. "What makes you say that?"

"Three things," Bismarck said, holding up a finger. "One, they all targeted you, and you alone." Another finger joined the first. "Second, they came in ones and twos instead of squadrons or fleets, and they had no destroyers. That's not fleet behavior." One more finger. "And third, they were highly skilled at both combat and at evading our detection net. All three scream 'assassins'."

"I don't think I've made any enemies that hate me enough for that," Hood mused. "I'm pretty sure..." Suddenly, a dark look crosses her face. "On second thought, once I get out of this I need to make some calls to Japan. I think I might have a culprit..."


	71. Rule 2238

**Rule 2238. Destroyer Minders are reminded to keep track of their charges when taking them shopping. We don't need another incident like the Great San Francisco Mall Fire.**

The Stonestown Galleria burned. Panicked shoppers spilled out of the mall's exits, screaming their heads off and nearly drowning out the sirens of the approaching fire trucks. With a loud crunching sound, five different cars tried to exit the parking lot all at once, with predictable results.

Across the street, USS Juneau gaped in horror at the carnage; beside her, Fletcher was busy being sat on by Monssen and Barton, with Aaron Ward curled up in a ball on the ground.

"I just wanted to roast some marshmallows!" the destroyer roared. _"Was that too much to ask?!"  
_  
"Yes, it is, especially when it results in _that!"_ Barton snapped, indicating the blazing mall.

"But- But marshmallows!"

"Dammit, Fletcher!"

Slumping to her knees, Juneau let out a choked sob as her charges continued to bicker. How had this happened? She only took her eyes off the destroyer for a second...

~o~

Fletcher eyed Juneau, waiting for an opening. Already she was walking so that the distance was ever-so-slightly opening, the cruiser oblivious. Her gaze shifted to an oncoming rack of clothes, and as they passed by Fletcher ducked down and veered behind another, further rack. Glancing over the blouses, she saw Juneau and the rest of the group enter the main mall. Perfect.

Ducking back down, she made a beeline for the cafe set in the Nordstrom store they'd been walking through, hiding behind another rack of clothes as she waited for an opportunity. Then, once the baristas' backs were turned, she darted behind the counter, nicked a bag of marshmallows, and bolted out of Nordstrom.

Her next stop was at Brookstone, where she turned on the childish cheer and managed to get a simple metal fondue skewer for free. Now she just needed a fire.

Skipping out of the Brookstone, Fletcher made her way to the nearest directory, and scanned it over, looking for either a place that had fire or a place to buy the things to _start_ a fire. And oh lucky day there was a pizza place in the food court that used wood-fired ovens. Perfect!

Quickly making her way to the food court, she vaulted the counter, ignoring attempts by the workers to stop her, and parked herself in front of the oven, opening up the bag and skewering marshmallows to roast. Soon, one was ready, and she bit it off the skewer.

"So good..." she moaned.

~o~

Aaron Ward skidded to a halt in front of the food court, eyes scanning over the crowd. They were immediately drawn to a large knot of people clustered around the Blaze Pizza, as well as a lot of shouting and grunting. Hopping up, she spotted her sister roasting marshmallows in the pizza oven, despite three burly security guards trying to pry her away.

"I found her!" she said into her cell phone.

 _"Good work!"_ Juneau replied. _"Now, if you can get her out of there, do it. Otherwise, wait for the rest of us."  
_  
Nodding, Aaron Ward eyed the crowd again. If she could just pry Fletcher away from the oven somehow...

Her eyes fell on a decorative fireplace. Well, maybe a more traditional marshmallow-roasting fire would tempt her away.

~o~

"I just don't know what went wrong..." Aaron Ward groaned from her position on the ground. Juneau shook her head; nobody had been able to give a satisfactory explanation for how Aaron Ward trying to pry Fletcher away from the oven had led to the fire that overwhelmed the food court, and was now consuming the mall. I mean, for Christ's sake, this was William D. Porter-levels of malicious fortune!

"I really hope we don't have to break out the leashes..." she muttered as she watched part of the mall roof collapse inward in spray of smoke and cinders.


	72. Rule 2240

**Rule 2240. "Please remember that anchors are melee weapons. Only use them if you're out of ammo or an Abyssal is too close." - Akatsuki**

Uranami eyed the latest batch of students in the art of anchor-fu, currently sortied to handle a small Abyssal incursion as a final exam of sorts. Desdiv 21 had scored well in lessons and exercises, but the best test was, as always, combat. And so far so good. Hatsuharu, Wakaba, and Hatsushimo had their anchors properly stowed to quickly grab, while Nenohi had hers out and ready to swing in case, say, a submarine popped up near them. _That_ was something the anchors were really good at handling, especially considering how often it happened.

So their handling was good. The real test was cresting over the horizon: eight Abyssal destroyers. And the test, surprisingly, was not in using the anchors, but in _not_ using them. There had been way too many cases of recently-graduated anchor-fu practitioners charging straight at Abyssals without even considering ranged options.

"Alright, girls, let's do this! Leroooooooooy Jenkiiiiiiiins!"

Case in point, Nenohi charging straight at the Abyssals, waving her anchor like some Scottish madman with a claymore.

"Alright, everyone, a lesson," Uranami lectured. Off in the distance, Nenohi's lone charge was met by every Abyssal in the squadron firing their guns at her at once. "Anchors are _melee_ weapons; as such, they're last-resort weapons in case you're out of ammo or the enemy has simply gotten that close." The resulting explosion threw a cloud of water up and Nenohi back towards them. She landed, skidding on the water, and coming to a halt at Uranami's feet. "Now don't do that again, Nenohi; you're not Tenryuu or Kiso, and you're not badass enough to get away with a stunt like that consistently."

"Got it..." she groaned, hacking up a lungful of soot.

The rest of the battle was fairly conventional once Nenohi got back on her feet, the two forces dancing about each other, firing their guns and looking for a good angle to use torpedoes. Of course, as the Japanese shipgirls were somewhat outnumbered, one of the Abyssals inevitably decided to push its luck by pushing in close. And for once, none of the shipgirls noticed until it was very close indeed.

"I got this!" Hatsushimo declared, surging forward and pulling out her anchor. Uranami just managed to spot _where_ her hand was on the chain before she yanked it out, and her eyes widened.

"Everyone duck!"

Nenohi and Hatsuharu immediately did so, Wakaba following a little behind, with the result that when Hatsushimo began swinging her anchor with a little _too_ much chain, she got clipped by said anchor.

"Ow," she deadpanned as she hit the water.

"How is it that you complain so much about Hatsushimo's clumsiness, and yet are continually surprised by it?" Hatsuharu muttered as she clambered to her feet.

"More importantly, are you alright?" Uranami asked.

"It hurts..." Wakaba replied, a lump rising from her temple. "But I don't mind..."

Nenohi sighed as she began to return fire again. "This is why the lewdmarines keep comparing you to Centurion, sis. And you really don't want to be compared to Centurion." Suddenly, the destroyer froze. "Shit! Torpedoes! Everyone, move!"

Uranami, Hatsuharu, and Wakaba immediately threw themselves into violent maneuvers; Hatsushimo was still busy beating up the other Abyssal destroyer. That left several torpedoes to Nenohi, and she grinned. "I've been waiting to try this!" Gripping the chain, she began spinning her anchor, dropping it into the water when she had enough momentum. The torpedoes soared in, unerring - and then exploded against the anchor and the water.

"Useless!" Nenohi crowed as the torpedoes impaled themselves. "Useless useless useless useless!" Pulling her anchor out of the spin, she grinned - and then her face fell at the sight of her anchor worn down to a nub. "Aww... How does Ikazuchi avoid this?"

"I have no idea," Uranami honestly answered - before clonking Nenohi upside the head. "Which means don't do it again!"

"Sowwy..."


	73. Rule 2244

**Rule 2244: The SCIENCE! Shipgirls experiments of merging other shipgirls together is to stop immediately. In the meantime, please welcome super battleship Montlanta.**

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" South Dakota cackled, throwing a switch that sent lightning crackling along the massive machine in front of her.

"So, that's what you've been working on?" Phoenix asked, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"What?" South Dakota said, snapping out of her madness. "No, that's just the light switch."

"The... light switch..."

"Look, I'm a girl with needs, okay?"

Phoenix took a deep breath and shook her head. "Well, what is it, then?" she snapped. "You've been all hush-hush about this, and I, for one, want some answers!"

"Well, it all started when I met HMS Zubian," the battleship responded as she start throwing more switches and pressing buttons. "Well, earlier, when I heard about the Re-class. We're shipgirls, we're not bound by shipbuilding rules. Why can't we make a battlecarrier shipgirl? But, of course, we're not built, we're summoned, so I had to figure out a way to _fuse_ two shipgirls."

"And... this machine is supposed to..." Phoenix gulped. "I dunno, Dakota. This sounds really, really dangerous."

"Oh, don't be a worrywart," South Dakota scoffed. "I'm not going to start human trials until I'm damn sure I can reverse it. And for now, I'll have to be content with plushies."

Phoenix glanced in the bell chamber of the colossal device, and sure enough, there was a plush teddy bear and a cheap Princess Celestia doll.

"Well, that's good," Phoenix sighed. "Minimizes the chance that something will go-"

"Get back here!"

South Dakota and Phoenix whirled around to see Flint and Tucson dive through the door, giggling, followed shortly by Louisiana by way of wall.

"Nya, nya, gotta catch us first!" the two light cruisers taunted.

"Aw, jeez, what'd they do this time?" Phoenix sighed.

"Forget that!" South Dakota barked, vaulting over a table in her way. "Stop them, quickly!"

"What? Why?" Phoenix's eyes widened as the two light cruisers made a beeline for the glass bell jar, Louisiana hot on their heels. "Oh, shit, you've gotta be kidding me!"

The Brooklyn immediately joined South Dakota in sprinting for the trio careening to their doom, arms outstretched. But it was too late. South Dakota and Phoenix were starting from cold boilers, while Tucson, Flint, and Louisiana had been running hot for some time. The two SCIENCE! shipgirls didn't get far before the three crashed into the bell jar.

And then the machine activated in a massive pulse of energy.

When Phoenix came to, she found her legs above her head, a layer of soot all over, and her head doing its best impression of a church bell.

"Uh, what happened?" she groaned as she flipped onto her side, clutching her head. "I remember a flash, and-" She froze, then surged to her feet. "The experiment!"

The smoke was just beginning to clear, allowing Phoenix to see _it. It_ had the young, freckled face of Louisiana, only marred by black pits leaking... something replacing her eyes. Fused to _its_ sides were what had once been Tucson and Flint, in much the same condition. _It_ had four arms, six legs, and was slowly shambling forward, moaning something just barely audible.

Phoenix froze, all her senses straining. _It_ couldn't see her, couldn't sense. Or, at least, that's what she told herself. The cure, though, was worse than the disease, as what _it_ was vocalizing became apparent.

 _"Kill... me..."_

"Oh my God..."

~o~

"Please tell me you can fix this, Medusa!" South Dakota pleaded.

The repair ship, who had been reading the medical report, suddenly swore viciously and hurled the clipboard at the nearest wall.

"Whatever the _hell_ your device did, South Dakota, they're fused together to the point I can't separate them without killing them!" she snarled. "And you were planning to use this... _abomination?!_ "

"Hey, don't try and imply that I'm some mad scientist with no ethics!" South Dakota snapped back.

"You kinda are..." Phoenix muttered.

"Mad scientist, I'll grant," the battleship admitted. "But I had no plans to test it on shipgirls until I was sure I could unfuse them, and that meant lots of testing on inanimate objects! So don't try to blame this on me!"

"This argument is irrelevant," Admiral Holloway cut in, his voice slicing through the tension like a plasma cutter. "Dakota, can you fix this?"

"I... maybe," Dakota admitted through gritted teeth. "But I haven't tested any of my theories! Trying them is just as likely to make things _worse!_ "

"So, we don't have _any_ options," Holloway grimly summarized.

"Well, no. At this point it'd be easier to just _kill them_ and bring them back!" Medusa snapped.

"Oooooohhhh..."

Phoenix, Medusa, and Holloway all slowly turned to where Dakota was grinning like a maniac, an expression all had become intimately familiar with.

"Oh, shit," Medusa breathed.

"Dare I ask?" Holloway said.

 _"I'd say this sort of killing would be analogous to sinking in shallow water, don't you think?"_

"That... could work," Medusa said thoughtfully. "But what about the memory loss?"

 _"Don't worry, I have_ _ **ideas,**_ " South Dakota grinned.

"So, to sum it up, this plan has a small but fascinating chance of actually working?" Holloway said. "Alright, authorized. This had better work."


	74. Rule 2248

**Rule 2248. Kongo, stop going chibi and pretending to be Admiral Goto's Shoulder Angel.  
**  
Admiral Goto sat in his office, nursing a blinding headache and a simmering rage. It had been a bad day today, starting with Junyo being found passed out on top of a _church steeple_ \- a local church that encouraged teetotalling, which made it unpopular with the sailors and salarymen but very popular with their wives. And, of course, the carrier had been absolutely _reeking_ of sake. After they had finished yelling at him, Kasagi had barged in with a stack of photographs and news articles, claiming that Aso was hanging out in the Persian Gulf and that if he'd just give her some escorts she could go bring her wayward sister home. It had taken a fifteen-minute shouting match to get her to drop the idea. Most recently, he'd had to discipline several sailors with crushed fingers and placate a pissed-off Takao. And in between all those incidents he'd fielded over a dozen angry phone calls from Diet members demanding to know what kind of a ten-ring circus he was running in Yokosuka, dammit!

And the icing on the cake? His secret sake stash was empty.

Retrieving a lighter, he flicked it open and clicked up a tongue of flame. "Maybe I should just burn it all down..." he mused.

Suddenly, two fairy-sized figures burst to life on his shoulders. One was Kongo with a halo over hear head, while the other took the form a classic female cartoon devil, red skin, voluptuous figure, and skimpy outfit included.

"Yesssss, do it!" the devil crowed. "Burn it down! Show them all what kind of a madboy you're dealing with!"

"No, Admiral, don't!" chibi Kongo pleaded. "I'll be mad at you if you do that! You don't want me mad at you, do you?"

Slowly, Goto closed the lighter, the devil poofing away with a muffled "Damn it!" Chibi Kongo, for her part, nodded proudly.

"I knew you could do it, Admiral," she said. "I'll be here at full-size soon, so just hang on, okay?" And with that, she poofed away as well.

Seconds later, the door swung open, Kongo at full size stepping. "Good afternoon, Admiral!" she declared.

"Good afternoon, Kongo," Goto said, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "And thank you, too, for convincing me not to burn everything down."

Whatever reaction he was expecting, it was not the befuddled, worried expression he got. "What are you talking about, Admiral?" she asked.

Admiral Goto paled.

~o~

The Chief of the Maritime Staff sighed and rubbed his forehead. This was the _last_ thing he needed after the leak of The List. Admiral Goto was currently undergoing a preliminary psychiatric evaluation, but he knew in his gut that he would be at least temporarily relieved of duty. Which was a problem, because nobody else wanted the job anymore. He'd checked; the short list of temporary replacements had all vehemently rejected the appointment.

The Chief was distracted from his musings by the door opening, admitting Kongo and Ooyodo. "Ladies, thank you for coming to see me," he said, rising and shaking their hands. "How is Admiral Goto doing?"

"Well, the psychiatrists have basically said that they want Admiral Goto retired yesterday-" Kongo began.

"Which isn't an option."

"Which isn't an option, yes, and so they're suggesting a month-long vacation somewhere far away from the sea." The battleship sighed unhappily. "They suggested Nebraska. I might be able to negotiate up to Las Vegas or Chicago."

"Which still leaves us the problem of finding a replacement for that month," the Chief stated, rubbing his chin. "Ooyodo, would any of our shipgirls be able to take up the position, at least temporarily?"

"I'm don't think so, sir," the light cruiser sighed. "All of those are squadron commanders. They all think tactically, not on a strategic or operational level, and I suspect the level of bureaucracy would break them in short order."

"I'm not so sure about that..." Kongo mused. At the confused glances the Chief and Ooyodo sent her way, she elaborated: "Well, Fubuki's been climbing the officer ladder the hard way, right? Practice and study and a good amount of bootlicking and all that. Why not have her take over for a month."

Ooyodo and the Chief exchanged glances, the latter eventually speaking up. "You know these girls better than I do. Would this work?"

"She's shown leadership and is already well-versed in the administrative side of things..." Ooyodo answered. "It's worth a shot, sir. And if none of our officers will do it, she's probably the best shot we have."

The Chief nodded, before hauling his tired old bones out of the chair he was sitting in. "Well then. Let's go talk to her, shall we?"

~o~

"Let me get this straight," Fubuki deadpanned. "You want me - _me -_ to take over as Admiral for Yokosuka. For a month."

"No one outside wanted the job, so we had to do an internal promotion," the Chief explained. "Kongo gave a recommendation, and here we are."

The destroyer aimed a glare at the battleship, Kongo looking away and whistling. After a moment, she broke the glare and sighed. "Alright. I'll do it. But I get my pick of extra staff! I'm gonna need it!"

"Of course, of course," the Chief nodded, before dipping into a bow. "Your country thanks you, Admiral Fubuki."

"Thank me _after_ we get through this month, thank you very much," the embarrassed destroyer muttered. "And I'm not actually and admiral, am I?"

"Technically, you've been promoted to Captain, with a brevet ranking of Vice Admiral for administrative and operational purposes," Ooyodo explained. "So yes and no?"

"Oh. Okay then."


	75. Rule 2251

**Rule 2251. While the Firefighters, Policemen, and Paramedics are thankful for the help of any shipgirl who happens to be in the area, please don't over do it.  
**  
"No!" screamed a bereaved mother. She took a hasty step forward, only to be arrested by a firefighter grabbing her under her arms.

"Ma'am, no, it's too dangerous!"

The woman ignored him, tears running down her eyes as a Los Angeles apartment building continued to burn merrily. Fire trucks had contained the blaze to the building, and had performed heroically trying to get everyone out, but the fire, fanned by Santa Ana winds, the dry summer, and a dire need for maintenance on the building (in a supreme irony, the first workers were scheduled to come do just that the very next day) had overtaken them. It had gotten too dangerous, too fast, for the firefighters to get everyone out.

Too dangerous for _firefighters_ , anyway. The blonde-haired girl that charged into the burning building heedless of the firefighters' warnings some seconds later was far more durable than them, and after five tense minutes, she walked out, several coughing, scorched people slung on her shoulders. Handing them off to the waiting paramedics, she then rounded on the suddenly nervous fire chief.

"Like, what's the big idea, trying to, like, stop me like that?" Pasadena demanded.

"I-I'm sorry, we just thought you'd collapse the building by accident or something!" the hapless fire chief explained.

Pasadena blinked in confusion. "Like, why in the world would you think I'd do, like, something that harebrained?"

~o~

 _Los Angeles traffic is bad at the best of times. And that traffic leads people to do somewhat questionable things, like form a line of cars over a train crossing. Sadly, all it takes is one simple mechanical failure to turn 'questionable' into 'fatal'._

 _"Come on, come on," the hapless inhabitant of the stalled car sitting on the tracks muttered, futilely turning the key over and over again. The blare of a train whistle reminded him of how little time he had left, and panic robbed him of any way to think of just climbing out of the car. By the time the shouts of onlookers penetrated, the train was feet away, and all he could do was close his eyes and hope it was painless._

CRASH! BOOM!

 _Instead, an almighty noise prompted him to open his eyes, and see a short, well-built woman standing next to his car - and more importantly, just beyond her, was a wrecked locomotive, dozens of derailing freight cars behind it._

 _"Uh... oops," Alabama muttered._

~o~

"I hadn't heard about that!" Pasadena exclaimed, wide-eyed.

"It just happened today," the fire chief explained. "And it's just the latest headache."

"I know there's, like, all the vigilante stuff Los Angeles was doing..."

"And the LAPD isn't happy about that, no. They've had to let most of her 'captures' go for lack of evidence."

"And, like, Flasher's Tuxedo Mask impression..."

"Well, they're welcoming her now that she's not doing five minutes of posing every time she shows up."

The two fell silent.

"So, am I good?" Pasadena asked.

"Yeah, you're good."


	76. Rule 2252

**Rule 2252. No Naka we cannot build you a flying spaceship stage to host concerts regardless of how much you beg.**

The Macross series is widely considered one of the great classics of anime, heavily influencing subsequent mecha and sci-fi shows. Surprisingly, Naka had never seen it, and several of the more anime-obsessed of Yokosuka had decided that that was a travesty of the highest order that must be corrected!

"This might have been a mistake," Sazanami muttered as she watched Naka fangirl over the _other_ thing the show prominently featured: idols.

"Pah, what's the worst that could happen?" Sendai countered. Both shipgirls stiffened, glanced around, and when nothing happened the Sazanami slapped her upside the head.

"Don't _say_ that!" she hissed. "The universe is always listening!"

"Y-Yes, right, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," Sendai replied, rubbing the back of her head.

The two glanced back at the screen, a massive idol stage rocketing up into space, Naka letting out a specific high-pitched squeal. It took a second, but they put two and two together. They switched their gaze from the TV to each other, and grinned.

"Oh, this is gonna be _fun."_

~o~

"A flying spaceship concert stage," Yuubari repeated incredulously.

"Yeah!" Naka chirped, spreading her arms wide. "It needs to fit a hundred thousand people, and concessions, and all that other stuff that goes into making a good concert experience!"

"A flying... spaceship... _concert stage..."  
_  
"Do you want it to turn into a giant punchy robot?" the other Yuubari chimed in.

"If you can pull it off I will give you all the free merch you want!"

Suddenly, the first Yuubari grabbed a piece of paper and began frantically scribbling something on it. "Artificial gravity... rotating section? No... actual artificial gravity, that's gonna be fun. What can even get it into orbit? Or... yeah, that'd work... no need to invent a whole new engineering discipline here..."

The other Yuubari looked at her twin, and flashed a smile to Naka. "Well, I'd say if you can convince the Admiral to allow this, we'd be happy to build this."

"Pfft," Naka scoffed. "That'll be the _easy_ part!"

~o~

Fubuki, resplendent in an Admiral's uniform, barely took one look at the writeup before tossing it over her shoulder. "Absolutely not."

"But why?!" Naka wailed.

The reply was drier than the surface of Mars. "You mean _besides_ the fact that it's a colossal vanity project with no strategic significance whatsoever?"

"Yes, besides that!"

Sighing, Fubuki lowered her head so her mouth was hidden by her clasped hands. "Well, I could talk about the massive amount of strategic resources it would eat up. Or the fact that the construction costs outstrip your net worth by an order of magnitude or two, and that there's no way in hell that I can convince the Diet to fund it. But really, I'd have hoped the fact that, again, it's a colossal vanity project with no strategic significance would have been enough to scupper this before it even crossed my desk. So I guess we're both disappointed today."

Gaping, Naka flashed a pleading look to Yuubari, who was standing behind her. She shrugged. Naka switched to max-strength puppy-dog eyes. Yuubari sighed, stepping forward. "Well, I don't know how much this'll help, but the other me has gotten into a..." She pursed her lips, considering how to put it. _"Mood._ She's already working on a prototype anti-grav module."

"And I'm not going to stop her," Fubuki quite reasonably pointed out. "We have half the scientists in Japan salivating at every patent you guys put out, and the other half busy working out how to replicate said patents. There's a good chance we're going to have a nice tech boom after this war is over. But building something like this - something bigger than anything you two have made, I might add - isn't going to happen."

"Well, I tried," Yuubari stated, stepping back.

Naka, left with no other option, turned back to Fubuki and turned on the puppy-dog eyes. To her internal dismay, the temporary admiral didn't even flinch.

"I did desensitization training with Desdiv 6 to prepare for this job, and they're much better at that than you. Try again."

Dropping the puppy-dog eyes, Naka engaged her final contingency: dropping out of her chair, she fell into a formal bowing position, forehead actually touching the floor. "Please!" she pleaded.

"It would make a good victory monument..." Fubuki mused. "But I'm afraid that, short of you ending the war single-handedly, there really isn't anything you can do. Sorry."

Naka didn't move, desperately projecting her thoughts outward. This had to work! It just had to!

"Oh for- Naka, stand up!"

The authority in Fubuki's voice jolted her into action, and before she knew it she was standing and at attention. Amusingly, she could see Yuubari doing the same out of the corner of her eye.

"As much as your genuflecting is good for my ego, it's also a waste of all our time," Fubuki stated, not unkindly. "Sendai, if you could comfort your sister, please? I suspect she's going to need a lot of ice cream."

Both Naka and Yuubari blinked in confusion at that. Sendai was nowhere in sight, after all. So both had to suppress screams when Sendai appeared from the shadows of one corner of the office.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked.

"I didn't," Fubuki replied.

Slowly, a smile spread over Sendai's face. "We're gonna get along just fine, Admiral." Turning to Naka, she said: "C'mon, sis, let the failure sink in."

In a shockingly fast process, Naka's expression quivered, and then collapsed into teary-eyed sobbing, Yuubari and Fubuki both shifting uncomfortably. Not saying a word, Sendai hauled her sister up and left, leaving the two shipgirls sitting awkwardly in the office.

"So, I'm just gonna..."

"Yes, go right ahead," Fubuki said, before muttering under her breath: "Get back soon, Admiral, _please."_


	77. Rule 2255

**Rule 2255. Grave robbing is illegal.**

"Are you _sure_ the grave robber was a shipgirl?" Salem asked as she and the cemetery's security guard entered the graveyard. "Not just some random random crazy person?"

Before the guard could answer, Salem's boot hit something, making a clinking sound. Bending over, she picked up a brass 20mm cartridge, sitting among several of its brethren.

"Pretty sure," the guard deadpanned. Rolling her eyes, Salem followed as he went deeper among the tombstones.

Finding the grave robber was a simple matter of following the sound of digging. The robber was, by the time they got to her, waist-deep in the grave, shovel moving with inhuman speed. Sharing a glance, Salem and the guard nodded, and then simultaneously lit up the grave with their flashlights. "Freeze!"

The shipgirl froze mid-shovel, dirt dribbling onto her hair, and slowly, Newark turned around and raised her arms. "Hey?"

"Newark. I should've known," Salem sighed, lowering her flashlight. "Do I even want to know why you're digging up a corpse?"

The light cruiser opened her mouth-

"You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know after all." Sighing, the heavy cruiser pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's just go so I can hand you off to the Coasties and be done with it."

Suddenly, day was turned to night as a colossal explosion erupted in the harbor. The graveyard trio turned towards the horizon, gaping openly.

"What."

"The."

 _"Fuck!"_

~o~

Medusa winced as another explosion rocked the docks, sending plaster raining down from the ceiling. Miraculously, there weren't any wounded shipgirls streaming in, which suggested to her that a singular shipgirl had decided to lodge their strenuous objections to whatever the Abyssals were doing. Certainly, they had no shortage of shipgirls who could do it alone, whether it was South Dakota and Phoenix's gadgetry, Midway and Coral Sea's hyper-modern air wings, Louisiana's raw bulk and firepower, the Taffies's sheer bloody-minded recklessness, or Willie D's bad luck. And that was the _short_ list.

Either way, that was the last explosion, and Medusa prepared to relax and unplug some of her more power-thirsty machines, particularly South Dakota's donated resurrection machine. Unfortunately, Chester poked her head in before she'd taken so much as a step.

"Chester?" she asked, bewildered. "Did you-?"

"Oh, no, Ayase took care of those Abyssal War Stompers," the heavy cruiser replied, prompting Medusa to wonder _'War stompers?'_. "She also told me to bring the leader of the force here, 'cause they're in serious need of medical attention."

"I'll be the judge of that," the repair ship sniffed. "So, where's the patient?"

Grimacing, Chester pulled out a severed head sporting the distinct stringy black hair and pale skin of an Abyssal. Medusa recoiled back in surprise, idly noting that it was indeed a new type, which in turn effectively restarted her brain functions.

"Hmm, tricky," she said. "But I've seen worse." Montlanta came to mind on that front. "Anyway, let's get her prepped before she rots completely."

~o~

"So, what did you get from that Abyssal leader?" Admiral Holloway asked Medusa the next day.

"Nothing," the repair ship sighed. "The resurrection worked, but... well... she just started screaming. Still is screaming, by the way."

"Really?" Holloway said, surprised. "Huh. Maybe we should hold off on using that thing again until we can figure out more on how it works..."

"My thoughts exactly, Admiral. The Montlanta incident was an emergency, and I haven't had reason to use it again. Now I have even _less_ reason to want to use it."

Holloway nodded. "Consider it authorized. And... well, you know how hard it is to pry South Dakota from her projects. It might be a while before she can arrange some proper testing."

"Understood, sir," Medusa said, smiling.


	78. Rule 2258

**Rule 2258. Being told to "Go play hopscotch in a mine field" is suppose to be a cruel way of telling you go away, not an actual suggestion for something to do with your free time.**

Valiant hummed happily and stretched her arms above her head, causing interesting movements and quite a lot of attention from the men at the pool she was sunbathing by. In fact, there was one of them standing up right now! The battleship pushed down her sunglasses to look him over. Well-tanned, lean, not too much body hair. The 70s-style porn 'stache was unfortunate, but something she could overlook. Smiling, she beckoned him over, the man flashing a smug grin of his to his mates. He stepped forward-

And was immediately blocked by destroyers Meteor and Marksman, who promptly stared him down. In seconds, he shuffled away, clearly stammering apologies. Valiant let out a muffled curse, and carefully banked her rage as the destroyers ran up to her, all sunshine and smiles.

"Hey, Valiant!" Marksman said once they were close enough. "We-!"

"Cockblocked me _again_ for the _third time!"_ the battleship snarled, looming over the two destroyers. "I have _had it!_ Go play hopscotch in a minefield or something, I don't care, as long as it's _not here._ Are we clear?!"

"Yes, ma'am!" both destroyers yelped.

"Now get out!"

Nearly jumping into the air, both destroyers made a beeline away from the pool. Both briefly contemplated heading back anyway, but they instead headed to the changing rooms to go back into their regular clothes.

"This sucks," Marksman said as she slipped out of her swimsuit and grabbed her clothes. "We're just trying to protect her!"

"Yeah, well, she's a battleship, y'know?" Meteor pointed out, voice muffled by her shirt. "Probably a pride thing, wants to protect herself."

"I guess..."

The two continued to dress in silence, and as they were leaving the changing room, Meteor brought up the other half of the conversation. "Hey, d'you think she meant it with the minefield thing?" she wondered. "That actually sounds kinda fun."

"Yeah, if we stay away from the antitank mines, at least," Marksman pointed out. "Wonder where we could find a good minefield..."

"Leave that to me, sis!"

~o~

A few hours later, the two destroyers, armed with sticks, found themselves on the Sinai side of the Suez canal. It had taken some searching, and a lot of careful walking, but the two had found a section of one of the long-defunct minefields that made an outline close to a set of hopscotch squares.

"Alright," Marksman declared, moving her foot away from the hopscotch grid she'd drawn with it. "You go first!" And with that, she tossed a smooth pebble onto a random square.

Frowning, Meteor hopped onto the first square, then continued down. It was in the last square before the stone that she landed badly on the sand, falling to the side, her hand reaching out instinctively to catch herself.

CLICK-BOOM!

That hand landed on a mine, which resulted in the submunition popping up, exploding, and spraying her with fragments, to no effect.

"Oh, that was cool," Meteor said, brushing bits of shrapnel off her. "And it doesn't hurt!"

"Yeah, we're definitely spreading this idea," her sister decided. She grinned, holding up the rock. "But I believe it's my turn now. Prepare to get thine ass kicked!"

Meteor promptly broke down into giggles, to her sister's consternation.

~o~

Despite all her experience and knowledge of what went on in Yokosuka, it _still_ managed to keep surprising Fubuki.

"We're missing _what?"_ she queried in bewilderment.

"Well, not _us_ , but the JGSDF asked us to store a few thousand antipersonnel mines," Captain Yonehara answered. "This was way back at the start of the Abyssal War, and in one more reason to curse Commander Toshiki's name for ten generations, the records for the stockpile have vanished in the interim. It was sheer luck the warehouse was uncovered."

Fubuki grimaced. That was the problem with having a few Lieutenant positions solely because there were a few problems that needed a human-shaped meatbag with a Lieutenant's plate on his door to mindlessly authorize solutions to: in the event of a crisis, said human-shaped meatbag was liable to be promoted into a position where he could do actual harm. And so it was with Commander Toshiki, who had royally mucked up the supply situation for the first few shipgirls before then-Lieutenant Yonehara had been assigned to the position. Oh, the stories Samidare had of having to deal with the man...

Shaking her head, Fubuki said: "And they're all gone?"

"Yup," Yonehara sighed. "Luckily, the JGSDF isn't raising a stink about it, but everyone's worried about them ending up in the wrong hands, like those Eastern Wonderland nutters."

"Yes, the last thing we need is for them to detonate one in the Tokyo subways," Fubuki sighed.

Suddenly, the door slid open, admitting a worried-looking Tenryuu, Abukuma, and Jintsuu. "Uh, Admiral?" the latter said. "We have a problem with the destroyers..."

"Is it at all related to a few thousand missing mines?" Fubuki snarked. "Because otherwise-"

"Oh, so that's where they got them!" Abukuma interrupted, snapping her fingers in realization. She promptly quailed under the intense stare Fubuki sent her way. "Uh, y-yes, Admiral?"

"Explain what my destroyers are doing. Now."

They did.

"Minefield hopscotch..." Fubuki sighed. "I should be surprised, I really should. They're not getting hurt or anything?"

"Nope," Tenryuu answered.

"Well, do your best to get them to stop, but I have a feeling this is going to take international cooperation to stop. Maybe even an entry on _The List."  
_  
*KRAK-A-THOOM!*

Everyone blinked at the sudden bolt of lightning, especially since it was a clear, sunny day.

"That's new..." Yonehara muttered.


	79. Rule 2261

**Rule 2261. Whoever ordered multiple tanks of sulfur hexafluoride to... dissuade potential satanists/grave robbers/trespassers/what-have-you, congrats on paying their therapy bills.**

Salvers. The mere word stuck in the craw of any shipgirl. Official salvers were grudgingly tolerated, and scrapping was considered little different from most peaceful death, but the unofficial ones? The ones who liked to break up the wrecks littering Southeast Asia and the Eastern Med with dynamite? Well... most everyone considered their activities in the former ceasing due to an unfortunate epidemic of death to be one of the few silver linings of the Abyssals wrecking the area.

Of course, with a war on and strategic materials like certain steel alloys becoming simultaneously rarer and more valuable, salvers had decided to spread out a bit, and the large chunks of the Pacific recently liberated from the Abyssals made for juicy targets.

For instance, a Philippino group pulling their boat up in a Marshall Islands atoll, looking to get at the ships sunk in the lagoon, including an American Arleigh Burke-class destroyer lying on its side, superstructure battered and holed. They had done this a few times, cutting up and loading valuable scrap, but this time something was different. The whole lagoon was more foreboding, somehow.

"Uh, h-hey, s-should we be doing this?" one of the men asked nervously.

Briefly, their leader considered doing just that, but thoughts of all the money they'd make overrode the sinking pit in his gut.

"No. We go ahead with it."

 **[Is that so?]  
**  
All of the men nearly jumped out of their skins as an impossibly deep voice echoed out over the lagoon. "W-Who's there?!" one of the braver salvers shouted.

 **[We ships don't appreciate having our graves desecrated,]** the voice continued. [ **How would you like it if someone dug up your dead grandma and sold her powdered bones to Chinese witch doctors?]  
**  
Footsteps sounded out, and only sheer, raw terror prevented the salvers from screaming, leaping off the side, and soiling their trousers, not necessarily in that order. They were heavy footsteps, distinctly unlike even heavy boots. Closer to metal then leather, rubber, and flesh.

 **[So here's what's going to happen. You're going to turn your ship around, and you're going to tell every one of your damn salver friends that this atoll is off limits.]  
**  
Suddenly, the salvers were bathed in blinding bright light. Silhouetted in it was a humanoid figure, the legs ending in flat stumps instead of feet, the body a mass of black except for two glowing eyes and a set of very wide, very sharp teeth set in a too-wide smile. Over her shoulder snaked a creature with human teeth, sharp black angles, and a pair of very wide gun barrels, leering hungrily.

 **[Comprende?]** the monster said, lips moving to match.

Their terror breaking, the salvers screamed and scrambled to get their boat moving. In a surprisingly short amount of time, they had gotten it started and turned around - only to immediately run into a reef and stick fast. Slowly, the monster stalked towards them, prompting the salvers to scramble belowdecks and barricade themselves in. Only once they did so did the figure suddenly hunch over and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.

 **[HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!]** allied Re-class battleship Revina howled, her tail joining at a distinctly higher-pitched register. [ **Oh, man, the looks on their faces! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!]** After several minutes, the laughter subsided, and the Abyssal pulled a black balloon out of storage space. [I gotta find more of this sulfur hexafluoride stuff, that was just gold!]

~o~

The giggles of delighted destroyers wafted into Nagato's ears, and she immediately parked herself behind the nearest pillar, watching. There, Hoppo was standing in front of Desdiv 2, the destroyers sporting sunny grins that melted Nagato's heart.

"Oh, do the Snakes on a Plane line next!" Yuudachi said.

Clearing her throat, Hoppo began to speak in a voice that sent Nagato staggering. **[I am tired of these motherfuckin' snakes on this motherfuckin' plane!]** she said in a shockingly good impression of Samuel L. Jackson.

The destroyers broke out into giggles again, Harusame putting up another suggestion in between. "Do Nick Fury!"

Hoppo grinned, the smile just barely visible above her scarf, and she cleared her throat again.

 **[I recognize that the Council has made a decision, but given that it's a** ** _stupid-ass_** **decision, I have elected to ignore it.]  
**  
Outright laughter this time, but the amazing, wonderful sound couldn't suppress the building rage in Nagato's heart. Her dear, sweet Hoppo-chan had to have learned those swear words somewhere, and by God, she was going to find whoever that was an make them pay!

So resolved, she stood and stalked off, missing one last bit to the drama.

"How about Frozone?" Samidare suggested.

Hoppo nodded. [Honey? Where is-]

At the lack of a baritone, she cut herself off, frowning. [Testing, testing. Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo.] Snapping her fingers, she swore: [Damn! The gas wore off!]

"What kind of gas?" Murasame asked.

[I think it was sulfur hexafluoride?]

"I'll go get some more!" Yuudachi declared, before sprinting off and leaving the rest behind. After a few awkward moments, Hoppo cleared her throat.

[So, who wants to hear Nagamon stories?]

"Me!/Me!/Me!"

~o~

Fubuki glared down at the bruised, prone forms of Yuudachi and Nagato. The Nightmare of the Solomons and Super Nagamon 2 had proven no match for sheer ornery admiral frustration. Emphasizing the point, the interim Admiral ground her heel a little deeper into Nagato's back.

"So, girls, what have we learned?" she asked.

"Don't go crazy when the Yuubaris don't hand over what I want, poi," Yuudachi answered.

"No maiming people just because they taught a cute thing some very _un-_ cute things," Nagato answered.

For a second, nothing happened, and then Fubuki lifted her foot off Nagato's back. "Glad we cleared that up, then."


	80. Rule 2262

**Rule 2262. No, you cannot replace yourself with another ship if you want a break.**

Enterprise took her seat in the bustling auditorium, every shipgirl in San Diego, or close to it, packed into the seats.

"What the hell is this about?" she muttered to herself, a sentiment that most of her fellow shipgirls agreed with, judging from the whispers she could hear.

The whispers only intensified when Wright and Missouri walked onto the stage, Admiral Holloway conspicuously absent and thunderous expressions on their faces. In a flash of intuition, E made the leap to what was likely going on, and a smile spread over her face. It was not a nice one.

"Oh, this oughta be _good_."

Missouri came to a halt in the center of the podium, took a deep breath - and then bellowed "ATTEN-SHUN!" at the top of her lungs. That killed the whispers dead, and drew every eye to her.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been called here," the battleship stated, barely contained tense rage filtering through. "And where Admiral Holloway is. The answer to those questions is the same: he's bolted, and left me the bag."

Immediately, the room erupted in noise, everyone trying to talk over everyone else. Foremost among the shouting were arguments about Admiral Goto and whether that precedent even allowed a stunt like this. Missouri let the noise run for several minutes before bellowing out another "ATTEN-SHUN!"

"To answer your question, no, Admiral Goto's situation does not allow this," Missouri explained. "Wright, if you will?"

The light carrier stepped forward, a scowl marring her brow. "Admiral Goto was ordered into a _temporary_ leave of absence following what is essentially a nervous breakdown," she said. "None of which - either the higher approval, the nervous breakdown, or the temporary nature - are present in this situation."

"To put it another way," Missouri growled. "My one and only order as Admiral is this: find Admiral Holloway, and _drag him back here!"  
_  
Silence.

"Free ice cream for a year for whoever brings him back."

A lusty cheer rose up, and Enterprise took the opportunity to slip out of the auditorium. She knew exactly where to start looking, and made a mental note to find a thank-you gift for Kongo.

~o~

Admiral Goto - no, Shinichi Goto - opened his eyes, sunlight streaming into the luxury Chicago hotel room he'd been sleeping in the past two weeks. A feminine moan drew his attention to the other occupant of the bed. The sheets had fallen down sometime during the night, exposing Kongo's bare back, and her hair was undone and wildly messy. Shinichi smiled, and flopped back on the pillow, luxuriating in just being able to _do_ that. This was just what the doctor had ordered - literally! - and he felt more loose and relaxed than he had in _years.  
_  
A sudden knock at the door almost jolted him out of his relaxed zen, but with practiced ease he ignored it. Probably someone with the wrong room ignoring the 'Do Not Disturb' sign, probably drunk.

At the second knock, Shinichi mentally adjusted whoever it was from "harmless drunk" to "asshole". At the third, he mumbled curse words under his breath as he climbed out of bed, threw on one of the complimentary bathrobes, and stalked up to the door.

"Whaddya want?" he growled as he opened the door, only to blink at the sight of Admiral Holloway, dressed in civvies and looking decidedly wild-eyed. "Jim? What are you doing here?"

"No time, Shinichi, I'm calling in my marker," the American officer said, shouldering his way into the room. "I just need to hide for a bit while the chase blows over."

"The chase? What? What did you _do?"_ Shinichi demanded, even as he led his fellow Admiral to one of the big walk-in closets.

"I took a leaf out of your book, and left Missouri in charge while I took a bit of vacation time." At the incredulous stare from Shinichi, he growled, "You think you've got it bad? I have to deal with even _more_ shipgirls than you do! The Coast Guard girls help, but they can't prevent everything. How is it _you_ get a mandated vacation and I don't?!"

"Consider yourself unlucky to have been born with greater mental fortitude, then," Shinichi muttered as he opened up the closet and rearranged some of their combined coats and dresses. "Hide behind there. And you better be telling the truth about this only being for a bit."

James climbed in without a word, shuffling a few of the garments to cover his body. Closing the door, Shinichi went to start up the coffee machine, and sat down in one of the chairs, waiting. It wasn't long before a knock sounded out at the door, and this time when he opened it he found Enterprise.

"He's in the closet," Shinichi said, jabbing his thumb at said closet.

"Thanks!" Enterprise chirped, waltzing over to the closet and throwing the doors open.

"Traitor!" James howled as he was dragged out.

"Now, now, Jim," Shinichi as he went to pour some coffee. "Should've worded things better. I hid you, didn't I?"

Any replies were cut off by Enterprise stuffing a sock in her Admiral's mouth before slinging him over her shoulder. "Thanks for the help! I'll get out of your hair now." And with that, she left, leaving Shinichi to enjoy his coffee and the very comfy chair.

He'd finished off half the mug when soft footsteps culminated in a pair bare arms landing on his chest and two large melons landing on his head.

"What was that all about?" a still somewhat sleepy Kongo asked.

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about."


	81. Rule 2263

**Rule 2263. Akagi, Shokaku, locking Kaga and Zuikaku in a closet together until they work out their issues was wrong. Funny, but wrong.  
**  
Lunchtime in the mess was an intricate dance at Yokosuka. This was the one mealtime where everyone was there at the same time, which just _invited_ the interpersonal problems that plagued the base to boil over into some sort of incident. Kiso and Tenryuu, for instance, were to be kept well away from each other, and before Hokaze had actually mellowed the former out, the policy was to literally keep them at opposite sides of the room, which took a bit finagling.

But such measures, being an ad-hoc system of the more socially minded shipgirls intervening as necessary, could never be perfect. Case in point, letting Kaga and Zuikaku sit next to each other.

The two stared at each other, food consumed on automatic, electricity seeming to crackle between their eyes, and Shokaku and Akagi looking on in tense worry. Finally, Zuikaku spoke.

"What are you staring at, you old cow?"

Akagi and Shokaku both flinched, while Kaga remained impassive. "I'm merely contemplating how you become _less_ mature as you grow older and more experienced," the latter replied stonily.

"Ha!" Zuikaku crowed, sitting back with a smug grin on her face. "Finally, she admits it!"

"You're still not as good as me, though," Kaga continued. "Which perhaps explains things."

Aaaand there was Zuikaku, glaring up at Kaga.

"W-What do we do?" Shokaku whispered to Akagi as the tension between the two simmered higher, gathering the attention of everyone around them. "At this rate, they might actually fight each other!"

"I-I don't..." Akagi stammered, before her eyes widened in realization. "I've got an idea!" She glanced at the two fleet carriers, still glaring at each other. "Though, uh, we still need to break that up..."

~o~

Zuikaku sighed and rubbed the back of her head, checking the note Shokaku had slipped her. Fubuki had torn strips out of both her and Kaga when she found their confrontation in the mess, which the fleet carrier didn't think was completely fair. Yeah, she provoked Kaga, but that damn space heater had it coming!

Shaking her head, Zuikaku refocused on the directions Shokaku had given her. Why her sister needed to see her in this deserted chunk of the supply building was beyond her, but her big sis didn't do things for no reason.

Though the fleet carrier found herself questioning that bit of dogma when she arrived at the destination - an open closet, of all things - to find Kaga leaning against the wall.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Zuikaku snapped.

"I'm here because Akagi told me to, young turkey," Kaga replied, holding up a handwritten note.

Zuikaku ignored the jibe, because there was suddenly a foreboding pit in her stomach. _'She wouldn't-'  
_  
Suddenly, strong arms landed on her shoulder and _shoved,_ and the last thing the fleet carrier saw before landing among the pallets in the closet was Shokaku's determined face. Then everything else was obscured by Kaga's chest landing on her face. The door clicked shut.

"Yo, get these damn melons out of my face," Zuikaku growled, legs quivering from having to prop herself against the pallets at an awkward angle.

"I would like to, but I cannot," Kaga replied, grimacing.

"I'll be the judge of that," Zuikaku grunted, reaching up and pushing Kaga back - for all of two inches, when something unyielding got in the way. "Eh?" She pushed again, harder. "What?!" One more push, this with most of her horsepower behind it. Kaga grunted, then chopped Zuikaku on the head.

"Ease up, you're going to break something," Kaga snapped. "I think those two barricaded the door, because it's not budging."

"And there's no room for you to turn around, either," Zuikaku sighed. "So we're stuck like this. You, me, and your stupid cow tits in my face."

"Yes."

The two glared at each other for a second longer before Zuikaku held up her hand. "Truce? At least until we get out of this?"

"Very well."

~o~

Captain Sosuke Yonehara blinked at the sight in front of him. Whatever he'd expected to find checking out a noise complaint, it wasn't a big diesel generator parked in front of a totally innocuous closet door, Shokaku and Akagi perched on top with their ears pressed to it.

"D'you think we can let them out now?" Akagi shout-whispered.

"Well, we haven't heard them insult each other in fifteen minutes..." Shokaku shout-whispered back. "Give it another five?"

"Or," the logistics officer spoke up. "You could move that damn thing and let our two best carriers out."

The panicked yelp and the expressions on their faces was like a cool balm on Sosuke's battered, bruised, and much abused sanity.

"C-C-C-C-Captain Yonehara!"

"W-We were j-just wanted t-to-!"

"I don't care what you were trying to do. Just move it."

Nodding frantically, the two carriers shoved the generator aside, and then unlocked the door. Yonehara opened it - and then very slowly brought out his phone as Kaga and Zuikaku fell into a heap, the former's breasts still pressed into the latter's face, and both rubbing sore legs. At the click of the his phone camera, both turned to him with faces of horror colored fire hydrant red.

"Hmm, I wonder how many likes I could get posting this on Shipgirls Online," he mused.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"


	82. Rule 2265

**Rule 2265: No Kill Marks on Your Riggings. Especially ships you killed in the past.  
**  
"Alright, boys, wheel those kill boards out!"

With an affirmative cry of "Heeeey!", Enterprise's fairies hauled two massive sheetwood boards covered in kill markings out of her rigging. One featured hundreds of red meatball flags; the other even more black splotches. Sitting down in front of her rigging, Enterprise pulled over a stack of brushes, several hand-made stencils, three cans of white, red, and black paint, and a small jar of turpentine, grabbing a thin brush to start with. Her fairies helpfully wheeled over the kill boards so that they flanked the carrier, and Enterprise set about replicating them on her rigging.

Why, you might ask, was she only doing this now? Simply put, some days prior Tarawa had expressed skepticism about Hornet's claim to be the "best anti-air carrier in the fleet", and told her to "put up or shut up". Hornet had stomped off in a huff, Tarawa had declared victory, and then she'd had to eat her words the next morning when Hornet showed up with every WWII shoot-down she had painted onto her rigging. When asked how she'd pulled that off overnight without keeling over, she'd simply smiled enigmatically.

Point is, that one action had set off a trend, every carrier scrambling to put kill marks on their rigging. It was Lexington who first started putting Abyssal kills on her rigging, as it made her much more impressive compared to the kills gathered during her short WWII record.

And now, finally, Enterprise was getting in on the act, by doing _both_.

Though she also wanted something else... something to stand out...

Tapping her chin, Enterprise grabbed a thin brush and all three colors of paint, and set to work.

~o~

Yamato, having put Yoshino to sleep for an afternoon nap, plopped onto a couch and opened up Facebook on her phone, scrolling through photos. She giggled, she d'awwed, and she even shed a few happy tears for a couple of sailors announcing their wedding for when they finished their enlistment.

And then she found an Enterprise selfie. An Enterprise selfie prominently featuring her rigging, which was festooned with kill marks of Japanese and Abyssal ships and planes, as well as a detailed picture of her old hull surrounded by a heart.

Something inside Yamato snapped, and she felt her smile become... predatory? Eh, best descriptor for it. A knock at the door sounded out, and Yamato stood and opened it to find Fubuki in full Admiral regalia.

"Yamato, I need you to-"

"Reign in my girlfriend, yes," Yamato interrupted, smile still in place. "I, Yamato, shall communicate _properly_ my displeasure at this."

Fubuki blinked, then tugged down her hat. "Glad to see this is in good hands, then. I'll take my leave." And with that, she closed the door, leaving Yamato to start planning her journey. And step one was to find a babysitter. Pulling out her phone, she dialed a number.

"Sis? You want to play aunt for a few days?"

~o~

Enterprise had just finished touchups on her Yamato heart when she heard a knock at the door. Standing, she pranced over to the door, wondering who else was here to talk about her love for Yamato!

(For once, this actually wasn't that far off. Plenty of people wanted to talk about their relationship. Of course, all these men and women had the ulterior motive of wanting to bang a shipgirl, and so sought information on the process.)

Opening the door, her smile immediately died a painful death as she beheld a smiling, clearly pissed-off Yamato.

 _'Shit, I haven't seen her this upset since the last time I tried making a souffle!'_ the carrier mentally wailed.

"Honey?" the battleship 'asked'.

"Y-Yes, dear?"

"What did we agree to about public displays of affection?"

"Uh... keep them non-permanent?"

"That's right." Aaaaand there was the visible anger. Enterprise whimpered softly as Yamato grabbed her by the collar and pulled her in close, eyes now open and veritably blazing. _"So what's with the heart on your rigging, hmm?"  
_  
"I'll wash it off!" Enterprise yelped.

Yamato promptly dropped her girlfriend on her ass, and this time her smile was 100% genuine. "Good!"


	83. Rule 2272

**Rule 2272. Never steal Kisaragi's shampoo. You have been warned.**

Uzuki hummed a tune to herself as she scrubbed herself down in the shower. Nothing like a nice, hot shower to wake you up in the morning! The groaning, brown-haired zombie - better known as Fumizuki - that shambled by outside the shower curtain clearly disagreed, but that was her problem.

Giving her hair another soak, the destroyer reached for her shampoo bottle, upending it and squeezing - and only getting a little dollop. Uzuki's good mood was promptly buried under childish anger.

"Mutsuki!" she shrieked, waking up anybody who wasn't already up in the process.

 _"What?"_ came the shouted reply.

"You used up all my shampoo! Again, pyon!"

 _"Sorry!"  
_  
"Sorry won't bring back my shampoo, you useless-!"

"SHUUUUUUUT UUUUUUUP!"

Uzuki's mouth clicked shut at the massive bellow from Kikuzuki, and she resolved to do something a little more constructive. There had been a couple of other shampoo bottles sitting on the shelf, and if you leave your shampoo in the shower you can't complain if one of your sisters uses it!

(Incidentally, this was exactly how Mutsuki got into Uzuki's shampoo in the first place.)

Grabbing a random bottle, she squeezed out a dollop and roughly scrubbed her scalp. The action calmed her down some, and when she stepped out of the shower, she was ready to face the day!

~o~

Several hours later, the door to the Mutsuki-class quarters slid open, everyone looking up to find an exhausted, disheveled Uzuki staggering in. Sweat coated her skin, her top had been torn open in the front, the rest of her clothes looked like she'd slept in them, and overall she looked like death warmed over.

"Whoa, Uzuki, are you al-" Satsuki began, only for Uzuki to interrupt her.

"Where's... Kisaragi...?" she mumbled.

"Uh, she's in her room," Fumizuki answered. "Why...?"

"Gon'... kill her..." was the answer as Uzuki staggered over to the room in question. The gathered destroyers all exchanged looks.

"Uh, should we stop her?" Satsuki asked.

"Nah, this is gonna be hilarious. I can tell," Kikuzuki replied.

The Mutsuki sisters as one leaned in the direction of Kisaragi's room, straining their ears, and in the case of Nagatsuki turning on her sonar. Suddenly, a cry of "YOU PUT _WHAT_ IN YOUR SHAMPOO, PYON?!" rang out, followed by a meaty thud. Then a lot of meaty thuds, and snippets of shouted speech filtering out. Those snippets were enough for the more mature of the Mutsuki class to flush, the rest just looking adorably confused, and Nagatsuki...

Well, she whistled out a gout of steam and collapsed backward, red from her hairline to her collarbones.

After a solid ten minutes, Uzuki stepped out, looking about ready to murder something. "I am going to take a shower, pyon," she said. "I am going to be using someone's shampoo that's not Kisaragi's, pyon, and I'll probably use up all the soap and hot water. _Any objections, pyon?"  
_  
Nobody said anything.

"Good." And with that, she staggered away.

Another long silence, and then Fumizuki turned to the still beet-red Nagatsuki. "So, uh, what were they saying and why did you go all red?"

"Nope," she decided. "I am not dealing with this shit. I need a light cruiser..."


	84. Rule 2275

**Rule 2275. If you prank a ship girl by making her think her sister ship sank, you deserve whatever punishment you get.**

"Fuso..." Yamashiro moaned huskily, rubbing her cheek against a picture of her big sister and- whoa, okay, we do _not_ need to show that! Let's just fast-forward a bit...

Yamashiro slumped against her Fuso body pillow, her face still flushed, and glanced back up at the picture, which sent her heart a-thudding. Sighing, she stowed the photo away for that time in the future when the need became overwhelming. It always did, sooner or later.

She had just finished putting the photo away when her door was knocked off its hinges by Ise's size 11 sandals. "Yams, terrible news!"

"Don't call me that!" Yamashiro snapped, standing. "And what kind of terrible news?"

Ise opened her mouth, and then suddenly looked nervous. "W-Well, uh... er, that is... I'm sorry, Yamashiro, but Fuso sank in that last sortie."

For a long moment, Yamashiro didn't react, before suddenly slumping to her knees, tears streaming from her eyes. "Ah?" she breathed, reaching up to touch one of the streams. "I-I don't... I... she's gone?"

"I'm sorry," Ise said, her head hanging.

Something broke inside Yamashiro at that point - and then instantly repaired itself when she saw a puzzled Fuso standing in the door behind an oblivious Ise, completely unharmed.

"Sis!" Yamashiro cried out, making a diving tackle. Fuso neatly sidestepped the tackle, letting Yamashiro slam into and through the wall behind her.

"You're alive?!" Ise demanded as Fuso retrieved her dizzy, wobbly sister. "How are you alive?!"

"Do you _not_ want me to be alive?" Fuso wondered. "More importantly, why would you think I wouldn't be alive?"

"I ran into Kinu when I got back from my sortie and she told me that you'd sunk!" Ise replied. "And everyone with her looked so miserable, so..."

Sighing, Fuso pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering "Hanlon's Razor, Hanlon's Razor..." to herself over and over. Finally, she let out a deep breath and lifted up Yamashiro, noting the tear tracks.

"So, Kinu told you this?" Fuso asked, voice taut.

"Yeah, that dummy! She lied to me!"

"Sis...?" Yamashiro cutely interjected.

"Relax, sis," Fuso answered, setting her down. "I just need to go talk to Kinu for a bit, okay?"

"Okay..."

As Fuso began to march off to find the light cruiser, Ise called out, "Don't hurt her too badly!"

The battleship didn't say anything; that was a promise she was fairly sure she couldn't keep.

~o~

Fubuki stared at Kinu, who was gagged with a cloth, wrapped up in a rope-tightened futon, and left to dangle from the ledge of one of her office windows. Said futon was liberally decorated with shinai marks, too, a sign reading 'practice dummy' sitting on the ground under her head. Kinu, meanwhile, stared back at Fubuki, her eyes pleading for the destroyer to release her and her face bright red from all the blood flowing into it.

"Well," the destroyer-admiral remarked, tugging her hat down a bit. "I'll admit, I'm impressed by your restraint. And this is a fairly good punishment. How long were you planning to have her hang like this?"

"Well... basically until you asked me to take her down, Fu- Admiral," Fuso replied, her expression still dark. "She made my sister cry. That is unforgivable."

Fubuki nodded. "I think another twelve hours to reflect on her actions would be sufficient, don't you think." Fuso opened her mouth- "Actually, don't answer that."

"Mm mmf!" Kinu protested.

All that got her was a hearty shove from Fubuki that set her a-swinging. "You don't get an opinion."


	85. Rule 2279

**Rule 2279. Yes, capes are allowed on sortie, but only if it's to help you cover up when you get damaged.**

Tenryuu glared over at Kiso. More specifically, at her magnificent cape. Why didn't she have a magnificent cape, dammit?!

"Do you remember HMS Undaunted?"

The light cruiser blanched as she realized she'd said that aloud. Not to mention she _did_ remember Undaunted, which didn't stop Tatsuta from elaborating.

"Another one of the Royal Navy's ham-tastic submarines," her sister continued. "Very nice, good teeth, loud, of course. All was well, the convoy was saved from the battleship she'd sunk - and then her cape snagged on a passing torpedo."

Tenryuu chuckled weakly. "Undaunted was not the brightest-"

"HMS Venerable!" Tatsuta snapped, slamming her hand on the table and prompting the swordswoman to jump. "Cape sucked into the engine of her own Super Entendard coming in for landing!"

"L-Look, sis, you can't generalize about-"

"Anson! Dragged down by Abyssal capture unit! Berwick! Grabbed by helicopter blade! Cossack! Sucked into water spout!" Tatsuta grabbed Tenryuu by her tie and dragged her in close. "No capes!"

Sputtering, Tenryuu furiously jabbed a finger in Kiso's direction. "Well, then, why does she get to have a cape?!"

"Two reasons," Kiso cut in. "First, my cape's like your sword: it got grandfathered in, 'cause we're badass enough to handle it."

That was... actually a good point, and Tenryuu felt her ire cool. Tatsuta letting go of her helped, too. "What's the other reason?" she asked

"Observe," Kiso haughtily stated. "Honey!"

Suddenly, Hokaze popped up from out of nowhere, eyes gleaming. "Yes, darling?"

"Give my cape a tug, will you?"

The destroyer nodded enthusiastically, and gave the cape a hard yank. It came off easily. Very easily.

"Quick-release mechanism?" Tenryuu queried.

"Yup. Can't have any of that happen to me because the attachments would give out first." As she said this, Kiso unconsciously reached out to pat Hokaze's head, the destroyer leaning in with a happy smile. Tenryuu was tempted to tease her rival about that, but it just wasn't kosher for badasses like them. At least, outside of battle. Then the restrictions were loosened considerably.

"Ara ara, Kiso, you seem to have gotten used to the married life."

Tatsuta, on the other hand, had no such restrictions. Kiso immediately flushed and looked away, muttering: "She's a good cook, and knows how to clean my swords... 's not so bad..."

"Oh, darling, you're so shy!" Hokaze said. "Trust me, she's very affectionate when we're alone."

Somehow, Kiso went even more red. "Y-You didn't have to tell them that!"

"But why?"

Steam rose from the light cruiser's head as she buried her head in her hands. That Tenryuu had burst out laughing in the meantime didn't help.

~o~

Roma sighed as she tromped up one of the paths up the Rock of Gibraltar, coming to a halt next to the Rock Fortress Princess. Both were eyeing a slightly lower cliff, on which was once again perched Aquila, with several Italian shipgirls down below. The carrier was wearing not feathered wings this time, but a bright yellow superhero cape.

"So," Roma stated. "Why haven't you stopped this?"

[You kidding me?] Rock Fortress Princess scoffed. [This is gonna be hilarious, I just know it.]

"Well, you're not wrong..."

Below, Aquila grabbed the corners of her cape in a familiar pose, and jumped off the cliff. Almost immediately, the sudden pressure on the cape yanked it up and out of her grip, leaving it fluttering uselessly and, from the pained shout Aquila made, nearly wrenched her arms out of her sockets. This was followed shortly by a loud crash, of metal tearing and stone shattering. Slowly, both Abyssal and shipgirl walked to the edge and looked down, finding Aquila wedged in a compromising pose amid the shattered rocks, bleeding from an obvious head wound and her fleetmates swarming around her.

"Okay," Roma said, her mouth quirking into a smile. "That is kind funny."

Rock Fortress Princess didn't say anything, on account of being too wracked with laughter.


	86. Rule 2286

**Rule 2286: Ise and Hyuuga might be missing a few screws from their C &C stations. ****_Don't_** **bring attention to it unless you want to be slagged.**

Fubuki eyed the battleships gathered in the conference room she'd commandeered for a few hours. Aside from Kongo, still on leave with Admiral Goto, and Fuso and Yamashiro, on an extended search-and-destroy mission south of Borneo, every battleship Japan had was supposed to attend. The remaining Kongo sisters were gossiping over something on their phones, Mutsu joining in. Musashi and Nagato might have been carved from stone. Yamato kept glancing towards the door, and Fubuki couldn't blame her, because Ise and Hyuga were running late.

Ah, wait, never mind, there they were. Fubuki frowned at Hyuga's somewhat off-kilter gait, and the small flask on her hip answered that question before it could be asked. And then Ise-

Fubuki nearly felt her eyes bug out. Ise was wearing an Aztec-esque stone helmet, lime green boots, and a _bath towel_ wrapped in the usual position, and nothing else.

"Sorry we're late," Hyuga grunted as she sat down, picking up a pen and twirling it. "Ise just had to get her outfit _perfect."  
_  
"Hey, I've got a lot of gear and I can't remember all the stat bonuses, so I had to try it all on!"

For the sake of their sanity, nobody questioned that, though they did give Ise sidelong glances. Nagato instead focused on something rather more mundane.

"Hyuga, you are drunk."

The battleship in question glanced up at Nagato, and then in one smooth motion flicked the pen so that it not only passed through the other battleship's hair, but embedded itself in the wall behind her. The battleship eyed the hole sidelong, beads of nervous sweat running down her face.

"Sorry if me being blitzed fucking displeases you, _your highness,"_ Hyuga snarled. "But you can see here what I have to deal with. Daily."

"- and that's why cumin is an essential ingredient in all baked goods!" Ise could be heard saying to the Kongo sisters, Hiei nodding and tapping notes into her phone.

Sighing, Fubuki asked, "Is there any way to get her to change?"

"Nothing I can recommend."

Sighing again, a saying on command came to mind: "Never give an order you know won't be obeyed." And for both battleships, this seemed to be the case.

"Alright, let's just get on with this meeting. Let's talk about hull tanking, and the fact that your armor _isn't impenetrable_." She turned her gaze on the younger Yamato, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, Musashi, I'm looking at you in particular."

~o~

[Hey! Where's that lush of a sister you've got?!]

Ise froze at the Abyssal taunt. She didn't mind when people called her things - usually some variant on "crazy", "insane", or "coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs". After all, they weren't exactly _wrong_. There was some awareness in the battleship's brain that said brain didn't work quite right.

But Hyuga? Hyuga, who had to deal with not only her quirks but that of the Fuso sisters? It was little wonder she drank, and she was _not_ about to let anyone criticize that.

As such, the first indication the Ta-class fast battleship got that she'd done fucked up was when Ise disappeared from sight and reappeared in front of her, before slamming her hand into the Abyssal's chest. When she pulled it out, it was with a squelch of ruined flesh and with a beating black... thing in hand. The Ta stared dumbly at it, and then the hole in her chest.

[That's my heart...] the Abyssal said weakly.

Ise promptly crushed it in her hands, and the battleship collapsed into the water, dead.

"Anyone _else_ want to insult my sister?!" Ise roared towards the Abyssal fleet. The response was immediate and emphatic.

[Nope!]

[Not saying anything!]

[I never liked her anyway!]


	87. Rule 2290

**Rule 2290. Leopard Seals are now on the banned pet list.**

"You got a _what_ for a pet?!" _  
_  
Leopard rolled her eyes at Chacal's incredulous yelp; behind her, Mistral and Cyclone ran by, giggling. "A leopard seal. Try to keep up, sis."

"That's not the point!" retorted Chacal, who threw up her hands in exasperation. "It's a _leopard seal!_ The most vicious creature in the sea that's not a shark or an orca! And you're making it a _pet?!_ "

"I'm not seeing the problem."

Groaning, Chacal cradled her head in her hands, her sister blinking in oblivious confusion at her. "Just... tell me where the damn seal is," she said, right as Mistral and Cyclone ran by them again, this time carrying small paper boats filled with fish and chips.

"Oh, it's just in the harbor over there," Leopard answered, indicating the water besides the pier. "He comes and goes, but he always comes back. He likes my fried fish too much to leave for good." The large muzzle of a leopard seal poked above the water, and the French destroyer pulled a fried fish and tossed it over to the seal, the creature happily snapping it up before sinking back into the water.

Well, that wasn't _too_ bad, if it wasn't here 24/7. "You're still telling Admiral Masson about this thing."

"Oh, no problem," Leopard said dismissively. "I'll tell her tomorrow."

"Today," Chacal snapped, chopping her sister on the head. "You're going to tell her today even if I have to frog-march you to her office so that she can handle things if anything-"

As it turned out, Leopard's leopard seal _hadn't_ left. It had instead been lurking just underwater, and had announced this fact by bursting out and grabbing Mistral by her shirt, dragging her in with a startled yelp.

"- happens..." Chacal finished lamely. Leopard didn't listen - she was already diving off the pier into the water, and promptly clocked a punch into the seal's muzzle, forcing it to let go of Mistral and retreat. That done, Leopard handed Mistral up, Chacal wordlessly taking the bawling, soaked tin can, before climbing up herself.

"Right," Leopard said as Cyclone comforted Mistral and she herself wrung out the tail of her shirt. "I think I see your point. D'you know anyone I could talk to to get my seal back to Antarctica?"

Still gaping at the sheer _speed_ of what had just happened, Chacal shook her head, clearing it. "I think your best bet would be Richelieu or Jean Bart. They're the most likely to know someone."

~o~

"Whoo, this one's gonna be tricky. He's free-range, you say? Likes fried fish?"

Leopard dubiously eyed the short, black-and-white-haired shipgirl looking out on the water from the pier. Richelieu had been no help, but Jean Bart had referred her to this shipgirl, USS Penguin, who'd helpfully informed the French destroyer that she was a submarine rescue ship with experience in this sort of thing. Still... it was hard to take someone who looked like a destroyer and dressed like a fancy waiter very seriously.

"Right," Penguin said, clapping her hands together. "I'm gonna need you to make a whole bunch of that fish. Like, a ton. Maybe a literal ton."

Leopard sighed. Oh well. It was a good thing everyone liked her fish.

Her confusion and doubt only increased when, instead of doing something sane like holding out the fish, Penguin shucked her jacket and then jumped into the pile of fried fish, spending several minutes just rolling around in it. That done, the shipgirl then dove into the harbor, treading water.

"Give it time," said Penguin, answering the unspoken question. "He'll show up soon. Any-"

Suddenly, the American was drawn underwater with a loud splash. Leopard bit back a curse, and was just about to jump in when Penguin surfaced again, grappling with the leopard seal.

"Give me five minutes to get this ornery bastard under control!" Penguin shouted, before going under again. This process repeated several times until both breached the surface, Penguin holding a limp seal and both sucking in air.

"Um, are you okay?" Leopard asked.

"I'm fine, I'm just glad that's done," Penguin announced as she climbed back onto the pier, tossing fish to the gassed seal she'd left lying in the water. "Give me a minute to catch my breath, and I can have him brought down to Antarctica; the bill should arrive in the mail." She turned her head to eye the French girl. "How'd you even get this guy to Toulon, anyway?"

"That," Leopard gravely intoned. "Is a secret."


	88. Rule 2294

**Rule 2294: If the engineers/mechanics/doctors, we really need a title for those guys, tell you that you can't see someone in the special docks, then you can't see them.  
**  
Akashi gritted her teeth as she looked over the casualty reports streaming in. Half the Yokosuka fleet had suffered moderate to heavy damage, everyone else was hurt in some way, and Jintsuu... well. The reports were vague, but they were enough for the repair ship to have the restraints prepped.

The door to the repair docks slid open, the Yuubari twins and Asahi striding in, the former grim and the latter annoyed. "Damn Abyssals pulling me out of my comfortable retirement," the ex-battleship grumbled. "Alright, what's the plan, Akashi?"

"Asahi, your job is to get everyone with light damage patched up and out of here as fast as possible. We've got more casualties than dock space, so we need to reserve that for heavy and moderate damage. Yuubari..." The repair ship grimaced; that damn twin thing made things so complicated sometimes! "One of you is going to stay and help me with the heavy damage. The other is going to be tackling the special case."

The Yuubaris exchanged an uneasy glance. "'Special case'?" one of them repeated.

Any answers were pre-empted by the first stretchers bursting into the repair docks - followed shortly by Zuikaku and Musashi, both lightly damaged, manhandling a struggling, spitting, chained-up Light Cruiser Princess between them.

"Yo, Yuubari!" the fleet carrier spat. "One of you needs to handle the de-possession, I don't care which!"

Both light cruisers exchanged glances, and then one of them turned back to the two capital ships, a malevolent grin on her face.

"Right, help me get her shackled down before you go get patched up by Asahi. There's SCIENCE! afoot!"

Akashi sent a quick prayer for Jintsuu, and then set to work stabilizing her first patient, Arashi bearing the pain of her injuries with only the barest of strained groans and clenched teeth.

Two hours later Akashi and Yuubari slumped to the floor, exhausted. Every shipgirl was either bandaged up or in the docks slowly repairing, and Asahi, who was rather less exhausted, was making the rounds to make sure they stayed that way.

Sadly, this meant she wasn't there to fend off Naka and Sendai when they arrived, their light damage meaning they were just given some band-aids and sent on their way. And "on their way" appeared to be to where the Abyssal that was also Jintsuu was being... decontaminated, for lack of a better term.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Akashi croaked, drawing both light cruisers up short.

"And why," Sendai growled in a very dangerous voice. "Can we not go to see our sister?"

"Well, we can't stop you," Akashi conceded. "But take my advice, you don't want to go in there."

Naka shot her sister a nervous look. "M-Maybe we should listen to her..."

"No, fuck that," Sendai snarled, stomping towards the door. "If I have to wait one more minute I'm going to kill something." She put her hand on the knob-

And then suddenly something slammed into the door with enough force to shake the entire repair docks building. Eyes wide with fear, Sendai took a step back, staring at the knob as if it were some sort of viper.

"Uh, just a suggestion?" Yuubari called out. "Put your ear to the door and give it a listen. For, say, thirty seconds."

Nodding, Naka guided Sendai into position, and the two pressed their ears into the wood.

~o~

What assaulted the ears of the light cruisers was pure cacophony. An electrical crackling was the most prominent, the tearing sound of an MG-42 in the background, and two voices raised above all those.

 _"The power of Dakka compels you!"_

 _[Damned shipgirl! When I get loose, I am going to_ hug you, and thank you, and _rip your guts out and make rope with them,_ so don't stop!"

On second thought, three voices. One was Yuubari, the other Jintsuu, and the third... it was Jintsuu's voice, but not. Deeper, guttural.

 _Animal._

 _"The power of Dakka compels you!"_

 _[Graaagh! Stop_ Don't stop _you damn bitch_ we're close!"

And that deeper voice was cutting in and out with Jintsuu's own. Almost like they were coming from... the same... throat...

~o~

Both light cruisers pulled back, disturbed looks on their faces. "I think we'll wait. Does that sound good, Naka?" Sendai said in a voice frankly quivering with the effort to stay un-gibbering.

The fleet's idol, not trusting her voice, merely nodded vigorously.

"Give it a few hours," Akashi added.

An inhuman roar sounded out from behind the door, followed by a deranged cackled and a shout of **_"Rip and tear!"  
_**  
"... Maybe a little longer than that."


	89. Rule 2298

**Rule 2298. Just because you can tolerate certain foodstuffs doesn't mean you can "triple dog dare" others into eating stuff that others don't like/can't stand.  
**  
"I don't know how you two stand that stuff," HMS Dauntless said, her voice muffled by the gas mask she was wearing.

The reason for this was that the two in question, HMS Dragon and HMS Delhi, were busily tucking into bowls of phall, the curries rated for 6-digit Scoville counts. _High_ 6-digit Scoville counts. The fumes alone had sent every other Royal Navy shipgirl in the room bolting with streaming tears, Revenge screaming about pepper spray and police brutality.

The two light cruisers exchanged glances and then shrugged, going back to their meals. "Don't knock it 'til you try it," Delhi mumbled around the food.

"I did try that stuff," Dauntless retorted. "I have the missing taste buds to prove it."

"I don't believe you," Dragon declared, placing her spoon in the bowl with a loud clink. "In fact, I triple-dog-dare you to try our phall."

Beads of nervous sweat ran down Dauntless' face as she eyed the curry. She gulped, for a brief moment contemplating just rejecting the dare out of hand. But a triple-dog-dare? No, if she turned that down she'd be the laughingstock of the base. Granted, if she ate the phall she'd still be a laughingstock, but as an idiot rather than a coward, which was honestly better.

She gulped audibly, and said, "Fine," her hands reaching up to undo the clasps of her gas mask. The instant it was off, a wave of particalized capsaicin assaulted her. A flood burst from her tear ducts, desperately but futilely trying to flush the chemical. Her nose burned, mucus glands kicking into overdrive for much the same reason her tear ducts did. Neither could keep it out of her lungs - oh God her lungs, they burned!

Staggering forward, she grabbed the spoon, nearly fumbling it in the process, and shoved it in her mouth, intending to chew as little as possible before swallowing. That plan died a swift death as her mouth lit on fire, and even after spraying the curry all over Delhi the fire still burned. She screamed. She fell to the floor, clawing at her tongue. And still she screamed.

"... This might have been a mistake," Dragon muttered.

"Y'think?" Delhi grumbled as she wiped chunks of curry out of her hair.

~o~

"C'mon, you guys, just try one!" Enterprise pleaded.

"No, no, and _hell_ no," her sisters Yorktown and Hornet replied, voices muffled by their gas masks. "We're not subjecting ourselves to that smell," Hornet added.

"I picked a ripe one, and we'll eat it outside. C'mon, you've got to at least _try_ the durian."

Both carriers opened their mouths for another 'hell no'-

"I triple-dog-dare you."

Their mouths clicked shut. That was a challenge that could not be backed down from, no matter how much they wanted to!

That didn't stop them from making a mental note to order a special detergent for getting the smell out of their clothes.

Soon, the three carriers were parked on a blanket outside, the durian stinking up the joint and Yorktown and Hornet holding their noses as their sister cut open the fruit. They continued holding their noses as Enterprise removed some of the pulp and handed it out. After a brief hesitation, they opened their mouths and put the pulp in.

The smell of a durian has been described as "pig-shit, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock". Understandably, both carriers expected the flavor to derive something from those smells. Instead, a rich, sweet, creamy custard flavor, accented heavily with almond, spread itself on their taste buds. Chewing it was something like chewing bread dough, stretchy and glutinous, and they could feel the seeds on their tongues. Those were spat out, the pulp swallowed.

"That- That was..." Hornet stammered.

"So good..." Yorktown moaned. "How can something that smells that bad taste so good...?"

A smug grin spread over Enterprise's face. "Want some more?"

"YES!"


	90. Rule 2299

**Rule 2299. We don't know if it's on this list already, but we'll say it again if it is. The proper way to greet a superior officer is a quick salute, not "I swear I didn't do it!"**

Goto smiled as he watched the naval base slowly grow to fill his vision through the window of the staff car taking him there. It had been a major surprise to find that, despite the relaxing vacation, he really did want to go back into his command. What did that say about him, he wondered.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He turned away from the window and to Kongo, replying, "Just wondering why I'm actually looking forward to this."

"Stockholm Syndrome?" the battleship offered.

A snort of laughter ripped out of him, and Kongo giggled. They were silent after that as the staff car pulled into the base, then to a stop, the two clambering out.

"I had nothing to do with this! I'm innocent!"

"I swear I didn't do it!"

And naturally, they were immediately confronted by a panicked Ryujo and Kasagi.

"Didn't do _what_...?" Goto asked, brows furrowed in suspicion.

That broke both carriers out of whatever panic they were in, and they both hastily saluted. "Sir! Welcome back!" As they lowered their hands, Ryujo cast a glance inside the naval base.

"To answer your question, Admiral, I think it'd be best if we showed you."

Kongo and Goto exchanged a confused glance, and followed the carriers into the base, where they were immediately confronted with a sight that froze the two in place.

"Ooi, please!" Kitakami declared from where she was clutching her sister's leg. "Let me love you!"

"Get off, you stupid limpet!" Ooi snapped, her unclaimed foot pounding away on Kitakami's head, to no avail.

"What," Kongo said.

"Apparently, someone decided that it would be a hilarious idea to swap the personality of every two-ship class on base," Kasagi grumbled. "And Ooi and Kitakami, though _that_ I can understand. Once you get past the brain breaking incongruity of it all, it's actually pretty funny. The rest... isn't."

"It's less a personality swap and more 'opposite day', in my opinion," Ryujo stated. "Black is white, up is down, and Fuso is actually being cheerful! And don't even get me started on Nagato!"

Kasagi shuddered. "Don't remind me..."

Goto sighed. Of course he'd have a crisis to handle the minute he got back. Of course! "Let's just get to my office so I can relieve Fubuki," he said, tugging his hat down.

As the quartet traversed the base to get to Goto's office, they passed many examples of the whole "Opposite Day" thing, and it was clear that Ryujo hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest. From Kinugasa giving Goto a smoldering glare to Yamato and Tatsuta dressed like and acting like stereotypical 80s delinquents to Zuikaku with her hair down and conversing politely with Akagi while Kaga and Shokaku volleyed insults at each other, poor Kongo's eyes were spinning by the time they reached the main office and Goto wasn't feeling much better. And inside that office was one last surprise: Kako, sitting at Ooyodo's desk and dutifully performing her usual work.

"Ah, Admiral, welcome back!" the heavy cruiser greeted the party once it entered. "Go on in, Fubuki's waiting for you."

Nodding, Goto strode up to the doors and flung them open, taking in Fubuki. She looked... actually in pretty decent shape. Kind of tired, but none of that existential despair he'd sometimes felt in her eyes, nor the bone-deep exhaustion he had also felt before his break.

"Ah, welcome back, Admiral," Fubuki stated, smiling. "There's a formal procedure to this, but screw that. D'you want your job back, you old coot?"

Goto felt a smile of his own spread across his face. "Yes. Yes I would, Captain."

Fubuki sighed, relaxed even further, and stood, shooting a rueful look at her Admiral. "All yours, Admiral. I'd call you crazy for actually wanting this job back, but... well, I guess we're all mad here."

Goto didn't contest the idea, instead sitting in his chair. It took a moment, but he felt command mode seep back into him. "Right. Kongo, I'll see you tonight, alright? Ryujo, Kasagi, I'm sure you have better things to do."

The three shipgirls took the dismissal for what it was and trooped out, Goto turning to Fubuki as Kasagi closed the door behind them. "Alright, I want details," he said. "I got the gist from Kasagi and Ryujo, but..."

"Started this morning, near as anyone can tell," Fubuki answered, sighing. "Hoppo was the first to report it, but more reports came in shortly afterward, so I don't think Nagato is our Patient Zero. So far we don't have any solutions, but Junyo claimed she's been working on something. It's our best bet so far. On a related note..." The destroyer shot a look out to the front office. "However we fix this, can we keep Kako like this? I kinda like this version of her."

"Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen," Goto chuckled.

"Damn."

"Anyway, where's-"

The door opened, Junyo walking in and blinking in surprise. "Oh! Hello, Admiral, welcome back. You'll be pleased to hear I have the solution to our current problem."

Before anyone could ask her to elaborate, the door was flung open again, Tama bursting into the room with Kako behind her, the heavy cruiser faceplanted into the floor. "Junyo, wait, it's Opposite Day today or something! Left is right, hot is-!"

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," Junyo said, rolling her eyes. "I figured out what was going on when I woke up without any desire for alcohol, so I applied a little magical juju to set the universe back on its axis. Should be kicking in any minute now."

Suddenly, the world seemed to shudder, everything turning rainbow for a brief second. Blinking suddenly, Goto shook his head to find the world back to normal, Fubuki looking just as confused as he felt.

"Well, that worked," Junyo said. "I'm gonna go get sloshed now, 'cause I ran into Nagato on the way here, and she's just..." The carrier shuddered. "Eurgh..."

"Can I join you?" Fubuki deadpanned.

"Of course! Invite anyone you want, too! Always better to drink together than alone! In fact..."

As Junyo and Fubuki left, Goto leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly. "It's like I never left..."


	91. Rule 2302

**Rule 2302: There is no ancient Eldritch Abomination-like living terraforming giant organism under the Antartic ices, stop trying to convince the SCIENCE!Girls to organize expeditions there to search and destroy it and prevent a shadow cabal seeking to forcibly ascend humanity to the next stage of evolution from committing global scale genocide.**

"Alright, I'll hear you out," Midway stated, idly signaling for another beer. She had a feeling she'd need it.

"Okay, so it's like this," Astoria explained. "There's this giant Eldritch Abomination terraforming organism sitting under the Antarctic ice that's been there since... I think almost as long as the planet. You follow?"

"Sure," Midway lied.

"Okay. So, there's also this secretive shadow cabal of powerful people who want to forcefully ascend humanity to the next stage of evolution," Astoria continued. "But that means committing global-scale genocide. So since they need this aforementioned terraforming organism to do it, we need to go kill it before the shadow cabal can enact their plan."

A pause. A pause that stretched on and on as Astoria stared expectantly at Midway's vacant expression. Finally, the carrier glanced down at her beer.

"I think I need something stronger..." she muttered. "Bartender, whiskey. Just hand me a bottle, I don't care.

"I know, right?" Astoria said as Midway had her liquor delivered, shuddering. "Just thinking about this plan gives me the chills."

Midway didn't reply for a moment in favor of popping open the bottle of whiskey and taking a deep gulp. Finally, she asked, "On an unrelated note, have you watched Neon Genesis Evangelion recently?"

"Yeah."

"You... do know that that's fictional, right?"

Astoria slammed her fist on the bar, every glass on it jumping up a little. "Of course I know! But the risk is too great for us to ignore it!"

Midway eyed the heavy cruiser for a moment longer before upending the bottle again. "Right. Okay. Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna go talk to South Dakota, and if she tries to turn you away, tell her I sent you. Okay?"

"Sounds like a plan!" Astoria saluted the carrier, and then sprinted off. Midway turned her attention to the rest of the bar, all of whom were staring at her, and came to a decision.

"I'm not drunk enough for this."

And with that, she upended the bottle and chugged the rest of the whiskey down.

~o~

"You've watched Neon Genesis Evangelion recently, haven't you?" South Dakota deadpanned.

"Why does everyone keep asking me about that?" Astoria grumbled. "Whatever. Do you at least have a plan, a weapon, _something_ for taking this thing out?"

Suddenly, one of the lab doors burst open, a smug Phoenix riding a spiky... treaded... metal box thing, a large, central spike sticking out of what almost looked like a tank turret.

"Sounds like the perfect chance to test out my new poking tank!" the mad light cruiser declared.

"Okay, first of all, even _if_ Adam was hiding under the Antarctic ice - and I'm not saying it is! - the _last_ thing we want to do is to pull a Steve Irwin and poke it!" South Dakota snapped, throwing up her hands. "In Evangelion, when someone poked it, it blew up Antarctica, flooded half the globe, and knocked the planet off its axis! So no! No poking! And we're not going to try and kill something that might as well be a primordial creator god!"

"But-!" Astoria tried.

"No! You can take your weeaboo-inspired conspiracy and _shove it up your ass!"  
_  
Phoenix promptly descended into a coughing fit that sounded suspiciously like "pot" and "kettle".

"And shove your damn poking tank up your ass, too, Phoenix!"


	92. Rule 2309

**Rule 2309. We don't care how you did it, but we'll say it again. Blackmailing superior officers is definitely not allowed. Period.**

"So," Admiral Goto said to Fubuki as the two shared a drink at Hosho's. "What was the most annoying thing that happened while you were in charge?"

"Oh, that's easy," the destroyer immediately answered. "That one time Miyuki tried to blackmail me."

Goto raised on eyebrow. "Elaborate?"

"Well, it went something like this..."

~o~

 _Fubuki looked over the proposal she'd found sitting in her inbox. It was an entirely reasonable proposal that would raise morale - and also run down Japan's dairy stocks entirely. And she didn't want to consider what it would do to the already-tenuous civilian sugar supply._

 _"Not happening," she said, tossing the proposal into the trash. Miyuki, the one who'd submitted it, made a whine of distress._

 _"But sis-!"_

 _"You mean Admiral," Fubuki cut in, glaring at her sister._

 _"Fine... Admiral," Miyuki bit out. "Are you sure you can't reconsider? The morale benefits-"_

 _"Are entirely outweighed by the effect this would have on the civilian markets," Fubuki interrupted._

 _Miyuki grimaced and slumped back in her chair. "I didn't want to do this, but..." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a book that should not have been able to fit there. Must have stored it in her hold. It looked like a-_

 _Fubuki's eyes widened._

 _"I see you recognize this book," Miyuki stated, grinning. Slowly, she opened the cover, revealing a picture of her old hull shortly after keel-laying. Fubuki blanched. "Yes, yes! That's the reaction I was hoping for! Anyway, you get this proposal through, and these photos disappear, never to be seen again." Miyuki paused, then amended the promise. "Well, until you get a significant other I can embarrass you in front of."_

 _The implied threat hung in the air, and Fubuki considered her options. Agreeing to this wasn't going to happen, obviously, but..._

 _"Does anyone else know you have this?" she asked slowly._

 _"Nope!" Miyuki crowed. "Assembled it all my-"_

 _POW!_

 _"Good," Fubuki said as her sister crumpled to the floor, one eye already turning black. Kneeling down, she retrieved the book and stowed it away._

~o~

"Good call," Goto said, taking a drink. "You still have the picture book, right?"

"Yes, and I'm not showing it to anyone. Even you, Admiral."

"Damn. Worth a shot."

The two returned to their drinks, sipping in companionable silence. At least, until Goto glanced to his left and noticed a book that hadn't been there two seconds ago.

"Huh. What's this?" he wondered, picking it up and flipping through it. His eyes widened at the words written within, and he frantically flipped faster, drawing Fubuki's attention.

"What's got you so worked up?" she asked.

"T-This is the movement orders for six months for the Harbor Summer Princess' forces!" Goto bit out. "How... why... when..."

Fubuki's eyes widened upon hearing this. "Holy shit, I didn't expect Amagiri to actually pull that off!"

"You ordered this-"

"It was her idea, and she assured me it wouldn't get her killed!"

"Well, in that case, we may need to get her a medal." Goto frowned as a thought came to him. "How _did_ she get this info, anyway?"

"I don't know, and I'm not sure I _want_ to know," Fubuki stated, slinging back the last of her drink. "Now, forget that for a bit. Let's just get drunk."

"Agreed."


	93. Rule 2311

**Rule 2311. We have to make this absolutely clear: From now on, you need an identification card with** ** _permission_** **in order to use the copy machine. This is so you girls don't devolve into childish office pranks like last time.**

"FIVE... COPIES! YOU STUPID MACHINE!"

Ooyodo paused outside the copy room and sighed explosively. Was the damn thing broken again? Now they'd need to call HP, and they'd need to pay to have a repairman fly over, and there'd be _no copying for two days, they'd have to_ _ **copy everything by hand and-  
**_  
And verily, did Ooyodo's own hand rise up and bitch-slap herself. Whatever the cause of the shouting, it was best to go see what it was before doing anything rash like burning down the base.

"FIVE... COPIES! GRAAAAAAAAH!"

And before whoever that was smashed the copy machine to pieces.

Opening the door to the copy machine and studiously ignoring her bruised cheek, she found another one of her fellow paper-pushers glaring at the machine, one foot raised in a clear attempt at percussive maintenance. "What seems to be the problem?" Ooyodo asked, one eyebrow raised.

"The stupid voice activation isn't working!" the man snapped, thankfully lowering his foot. That did not stop the secretary ship's other eyebrow from joining its brethren.

"Voice activation?" she echoed. "Last I remember the copy machine wasn't capable of this." Her eyes slid over to the counter the room also held, which was covered in pictures. Most of them were of butts. One was of Nicholas Cage's face.

"So you're saying this-!" A piece of paper with scotch tape still hanging off its corners was suddenly shoved in her face. "Was a lie?!"

Ooyodo pushed up her glasses, quickly reading through the sheet. Sure enough, it was instructions for a voice command system that clearly was some sort of prank.

"Let me ask you a question," she said, glasses sliding back into place. "What's more likely: that this instruction sheet is in reality a somewhat juvenike prank, or that voice activation was _retrofitted_ into a thirty-year-old photocopier?"

The sailor froze, and Ooyodo nodded in triumph.

"I thought so." She inclined her head at the pictures scattered across the counter. "Where did those come from?"

The sailor unfroze, and then scrambled to get his copy job actually started up, a grimace on his face from a glance at the counter. "The butt pictures were already there when I got here. The Nick Cage one was taped to the underside of the lid. Weirdest thing."

That... neither of those sounded like a Kinu prank. Too simple. Or maybe a red herring for the real prank, the fake voice-activation notice? Regardless, Ooyodo made a mental note to visit the light cruiser the first chance she got and... ask her about it.

The sailor was now done with his photocopies, and as he left Ooyodo stepped up to start her own batch. Nothing unusual happened, the machine was working fine - and then it spat out a copy with a paperclip image emblazoned on it. Frowning, she paused the copy job and lifted up the lid to double-check. No paperclip. Putting it back down, she started up the job again. More paperclips. She lifted the lid again. No paperclips.

This process repeated several more times, each closing of the lid slightly harder, until with a shout of rage she slammed the lid hard enough on the machine to shatter the top and the lid, not to mention jump it off its hinges. This was followed by a punch right to the center of the machine, which had the effect of reducing it to its component parts.

Huffing, Ooyodo balefully eyed the scraps of the machine - and in doing so, caught sight of the paper spilling out of the paper tray. The papers all had paper clip pictures on them. She'd just destroyed the copy machine over a _prank_.

 _'Shit. Could this get any worse?'  
_  
On cue, the door opened, admitting Fubuki, who'd been recently confirmed as Goto's official XO. The two stared at each other.

~o~

Kinu glanced up as her door was kicked open, Ooyodo stomping in. The light cruiser's eyes were bloodshot, her face was flushed, and the bottle of alcohol told the rest of the story.

"This is about the copy machine, isn't it," she guessed after only a brief hesitation.

"Yesh!" Ooyodo declared. "I'm admin- admina- they fired me for a week!" She paused to take a swig from the bottle. "Th' paper clip thing... th't was... diabolical."

Kinu frowned. Paper clip thing? "Uh, I actually only did the sign about voice commands."

Suddenly, Ooyodo was up in her face, grabbing her shoulders. "Who?!" Ooyodo demanded, shaking and spraying. "Who did that?!"

"IIIII dooooon't knoooow..." Kinu said, voice wavering as she was waved back and forth.

"Then... I'll find her!" Ooyodo declared, before stopping to think. "Or her. Probably a her. Or maybe a him? Definitely a him. No, can't discount a female. Hmm..."

Still muttering to herself, Ooyodo left, leaving a befuddled Kinu behind. "Why do I get the feeling I've just been pranked myself?"


	94. Rule 2314

**Rule 2314. If an Abyssal destroyer beaches itself and cannot return to the sea, the proper response is to take it captive for the scientists or shoot it once to end its misery. Not load it up with as much dynamite and C4 as possible and blow it up./Rule 2315. "Project Nuclear Trojan Destroyer" is cancelled. Permanently.**

New Jersey and the Taffy 3 destroyers eyed the twitching, kicking I-class destroyer that was washed up on the Carlsbad beach they were visiting. Around them was a crowd of nervous beachgoers giving the infernal beast a wide berth - and also staring expectantly at the shipgirls. Or maybe Jersey's guns, it was hard to tell.

"Well, this is a right mess," the battleship sighed. "I need to go call base for cleanup. Could one of you put this thing out of its misery?"

"Yes, ma'am!" all three enthusiastically cheered. Nodding, Jersey stepped away to go find her phone. The minute she was out of sight, the three destroyers fell into a huddle.

"Alright, my first thought was that we should just shoot it, but I don't think that's dramatic enough," Hoel whispered. "You guys got any better ideas?" At the surprised looks her sisters shot her, she scowled. "Hey, I have prankster genes, too, I just don't exercise them very often!"

"Well, I think we should just blow it up," Johnston stated.

"With _what_ , genius?" Heermann shot back.

"We _were_ going to shoot this thing," Hoel reasonably pointed out. "We can just unload some propellant and set that off."

Johnston nodded. "Good idea!"

Breaking from the huddle, the trio stalked up to the beached destroyer, Hoel and Heermann physically pinning it down while Johnston manifested her rigging and began unloading powder casings - and then violently stuffed them down the destroyer's mouth. The onlookers shifted uncomfortably as the Abyssal twitched and flailed, and the American destroyers didn't even budge. Finally, some of the casings were poking out of its mouth, and Johnston retrieved the final piece: a time-fuzed AAC shell, which she carefully placed before sprinting away, Hoel and Heermann following.

"Fire in the hole!" the destroyer shouted, the remaining onlookers scrambling away. Once everyone was behind cover, they watched... waiting... and then the forty-second fuze went off, followed almost immediately after by the propellant going up.

POWIE!

The destroyers cheered as the explosion splattered chunks of Abyssal all over the beach - and then froze as they all felt New Jersey looming behind them. A glance up confirmed that she looked... unhappy.

"Uh, hi Jersey..." Heermann tried.

"Don't 'Hi Jersey' me," the battleship fairly _snarled_. "Forget the Navy cleaning this up. You made this mess, _you_ clean it up."

The destroyers eyed the Abyssal parts scattered all over the place and as one groaned "Awww..."

~o~

"So," Phoenix heard a voice say behind her. "Where's that B61 that Wright's been tearing up the base to find?"

The cruiser yelped, whirling around and pointing an accusatory finger at South Dakota. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Answer the question, please."

Sighing, Phoenix pointed to a massive concrete slab set into the wall. "In there."

South Dakota nodded, and then grinned. "Well, in that case, I have good news!" So declared, the battleship snapped her fingers and some odd contraption trundled in, a squirming Abyssal destroyer in its grasp. "Now we have all the pieces to enact Project Nuclear Trojan Destroyer!"

"Oh, hell no!"

Both Mad Science shipgirls flinched at Wright's own declaration, and South Dakota was just whirling around when Wright decked her in the face, dropping her like a sack of flour. Phoenix watched this, and did the only thing she could.

"I immediately surrender," she said, raising her hands.


	95. Rule 2317

**Rule 2317. The Science Ships may not "upgrade" ANY office equipment.  
**  
Ooyodo clenched her fist to keep it from twitching as she walked to the copy machine again. Even after being returned to her post, she was still feeling the withdrawal symptoms of being away from her work. Opening the door, she spied one of the Yuubaris inspecting the machine, most of the plastic paneling lying on the floor.

"Hey, 'Yodo," the light cruiser muttered, tongue stuck out in concentration. "Gimme a sec to get this one last bit of wiring right... There!"

The copy machine beeped, several bits of machinery within moving.

"Alright, lemme just get the panels back on and you're good to go," Yuubari said as she bent down to do just that. "Also, while I'm here, I should probably tell you about the upgrades we put in."

Ooyodo frowned suspiciously. The words "upgrades" and "Yuubari" in the same sentence was a very dangerous proposition. "What sort of upgrades?" she asked.

"Well, aside from fine-tuning most of the systems and replacing a lot of old wiring, I put in a defensive measure in case someone tries to break the poor thing again," Yuubari explained as she fastened panels on. The light cruiser didn't notice Ooyodo suddenly look away. "Non-lethal, of course. Aaaaand... there!" Smiling in satisfaction, Yuubari slotted the last panel in place and stood up. "There you go, should be working now."

Nodding, Ooyodo went to make her copies, Yuubari still watching. The first eight sets went fine, but then the ninth saw something get jammed within the machine.

Yuubari sighed. "Probably a paper jam. Let me just-"

Unfortunately, the Mad Science shipgirl was a little too slow. Ooyodo's sanity, frayed by the withdrawal symptoms and given little time to recover, snapped, and she gave the machine a hearty kick, accompanied by a howl of frustrated anger. That prompted a prong to shoot out of the side, crackling with electricity - and right into Ooyodo's leg.

"gnyaaaaaaa" Ooyodo groaned as several million volts at high amps coursed through her. After several blessed seconds, it withdrew, allowing a scorched and be-afroed Ooyodo to collapse in a heap.

"Maybe we should put a sign up that says 'No percussive maintenance'," Yuubari mused as the arm drew back into the copier.

~o~

"SOUTH DAKOTA!"

The battleship yelped, covering her face on instinct as she turned to face Wright. "Don't hit me, don't hit me!" she wailed.

"I won't hit if you tell me what the hell you did to my shredder, and _how I can fix it!"_ Wright roared in the battleship's face.

South Dakota blinked, and lowered her arms. "Wait, the shredder? What's it doing?"

"It's rampaging and _shredding our paperwork!"_ Wright screeched. "The wheels of bureaucracy, being ground down to _nothing!"  
_  
South Dakota blinked again, and then sighed. "And we can't have that, right?" she muttered. "Alright, let's go get this thing fixed."


	96. Rule 2319

**Rule 2319. Whoever thought that taking USS** ** _Chopper_** **on a rollercoaster ride was a good idea, step up.  
**  
USS Pampanito groaned in contentment, stretching her arms above her head. The usual morning fog of San Francisco had kept the sun out of her eyes, letting her sleep in in this comfy hotel bed. Rubbing her eyes, she made an announcement to her sisters she'd brought with her on this sightseeing trip.

"Alright, guys, I think that's enough sleeping in." Nothing. She opened her eyes and swept them over the other three beds, which were unmade and conspicuously empty. Frowning, she reached over and checked her phone. Sure enough, there was a text from Billfish on her home screen, cheerfully announcing (though not in so many words) that she and Balao were taking Chopper to Six Flags for the day.

"Shit!" Pampanito shouted, sprinting for the bathroom to take a quick navy shower. Then she could get dressed, recharge her fuel tanks, and go charging off after her sisters. She knew them, they couldn't have gotten up _that_ early, and hopefully the Bay Bridge traffic would buy her enough time to stop her stupid big sisters.

After all, taking Chopper anywhere near _roller coasters_ was a colossally bad idea.

~o~

"C'mon, Choppie, you gotta go on the coaster!" Billfish whined as she attempted to drag her sister into line for said coaster.

Chopper simply dug in her heels more, a stream of "no"s flowing from an infinite expanse of "no"s from the Elemental Plane of No filling every nook and cranny of her mind at the mere _idea_ of going on that roller coaster. Some of them even got out of her mouth!

"C'mon, you baby," Balao sighed, shoving Chopper forward and allowing Billfish to yank her into the line. "It's just one coaster, and if you don't want to go on another we won't make you."

Sighing, Chopper squelched the stream of no and resigned herself to riding the coaster. That resignation lasted long enough for her to get a good look-over on the coaster. It was _huge_ , a long serpentine steel beast that soared into the air. "Medusa", the sign proclaimed. The stream of no began to pick up speed again, and by the time the three subgirls reached the front of the line Chopper was shaking worse than a worn-out reciprocating engine.

Still, the attendant let them on, her sisters handled the safety harnesses, and the cars began to trundle up the coaster. The clicking proved soothing, though the lack of a floor more than compensated for that, and as they reached the top Chopper had begun to relax some.

That went out the window the second she saw the drop.

 _'Oh shit that's a big-'_ was as far as she got before the coaster pitched forward and began to fall.

Memories roared to life, memories of going vertical twice, of her bow going well below her crush depth, the pain and nausea from overstressed bulkheads and radical maneuvers throwing her around. Screaming, she jammed her feet down and _pushed_ , trying to throw herself up and out of the fall she was in. The first few kicks didn't meet anything, but finally her feet caught on something.

Metal tore, people screamed, but Chopper, overcome by panic, was in no position to notice. All she knew was that soon she was on solid concrete again, and she immediately curled up into a ball. Safe. She was safe.

~o~

Her sisters had _not_ been stuck on the Bay Bridge like Pampanito had thought.

"Of all the times for the bridge to be clear," she grumbled as she stomped through the Six Flags park, heading towards the plume of smoke rising over the trees and rides.

When she'd realized that, the sub had immediately jumped into the water and worked up to flank speed, speeding through the bay towards Vallejo. It still took her time, though, especially when she had to grab a ride to the park itself. Luckily, a flash of her military ID had gotten her in no problem, and she was about to see the extent of the-

"Aw, shit."

The first drop of Medusa was _wrecked_ , an entire chunk of track laying in a mangled heap under the coaster. A set of cars were scattered in similar condition all over the place, several parts actually lodged in the coaster. Medical staff were tending to injured riders, though thankfully nobody seemed to be actually dead. And sitting in front of a curled-up Chopper with several security personnel lecturing them were Billfish and Balao.

And worse, a massive crowd of people was surrounding the scene, held back by police tape and taping the entire proceedings.

"Admiral Holloway's gonna have my ass for this..." Pampanito groaned.


	97. Rule 2320

**Rule 2320. WOrktown, please refrain from removing your hat, The Other Officers (and some Admiral's) are having trouble focusing on their work when you're around without your hat.**

Captain Yonehara, working on tabulating all the supply expenditures for the month (thank God they'd managed to drum proper resource accounting into the shipgirl force), was knocked out of his work reverie by a frantic knocking at the door.

"I'll get it," Ashigara said as she padded by.

Nodding, Yonehara went back to his work, idly listening as Ashigara opened the door.

"Worktown? What are you doing here?"

[Sorry, Ashigara, but I need to hide here while I take care of something; all the officers in this base have gone crazy!]

Wait, what? Yonehara glanced up in concern, his eyes locking on Worktown, who wasn't wearing her hat. His eyes _stayed_ locked on because, without the hat, the allied Abyssal was both stunningly pretty and somehow intensely attractive beyond what even her beauty could account for. He was mesmerized. Entranced. Enraptured. Pick a synonym, and it'll probably fit.

"I... think I can see why. You might want to put your hat back on."

[What does my hat have to do with anything?]

With an effort of will, Yonehara remained seated, drinking in Worktown and the brown-and-blue splotch next to her.

"You're... kind of distracting without it."

[I don't-]

"I am a one on the Kinsey scale solely because I was once desperate and drunk enough to consider relations with another woman, and you currently make me want to _jump your bones and reduce you to a quivering mess!"  
_  
[Oh. Oh! Oh, jeez, I didn't realize-!]

A billion voices cried out, as if the great god of No had decided to watch Grave of the Fireflies right over them, as Worktown retrieved her hat and slipped it back on. Still, the feeling of having his mind back under control was a tremendous relief to Yonehara.

Hell, he even knew how to handle Ashigara's thunderous expression!

"I promised to be faithful, not _blind,"_ he snarked. "I don't complain when you get all dreamy-eyed over your gossip magazines, do I?"

From the blush on Ashigara's face, Yonehara knew he'd won that round, and he turned his attention to Worktown. "So, why didn't you just leave the base entirely? You mentioned taking care of something..."

[I have a report I needed written and turned in,] Worktown answered. [And my fellow Allied Abyssals have been getting on my case about my lack of a love life...] Here the Abyssal took a moment to sigh dreamily with a breath of [Admiral...], before regaining her composure. [And I just can't get anything done in that environment.]

Ashigara and Yonehara both nodded. Though neither had personal experience with that sort of environment - Yonehara was an only child and Ashigara was the most boisterous of her siblings, not to mention neither had large extended families - they'd seen enough destroyers to know what that felt like.

"Well, you're welcome to stay," Yonehara said. "Just keep your hat on."

[Yes, sir!] Worktown beamed, saluting.


	98. Rule 2321

**Rule 2321. Canadian ship girls are to be reminded that just because you do not have much in terms of air support does not mean that you have to resort to desperate measures to get some.**

"Big sis! Big sis!"

Teruzuki looked up from cat pictures on her phone to find Shimotsuki running up to her looking panicked. "What is it?" she asked in concern.

"Wakatsuki's gone missing!" her younger sister wailed. "And I know where she's gone but I don't wanna follow her alone and get trapped, too!"

"Trapped? What?" Shaking her head, Teruzuki dispelled the confusion and put on her best game face. "Show me."

Soon, both destroyers were kitted up and out on the water, examining a trail of food containers.

"Cheesecake..." Teruzuki muttered as she examined the closest ones. "Cheeseburger... pizza... fried chicken... pancakes with maple syrup..." Standing, she glared out to sea, a trail of these containers stretching on into the horizon. "I think I know what's going here. Let's go get our sister. The Canadians won't be able to stop us."

"The Canadians?" Shimotsuki repeated.

"You'll see."

~o~

A few thousand miles away and thousands of feet higher in the air, a female form, attached to a decidedly odd form of rigging, steadily flew through the air. Said rigging consisted of a hefty harness, upon which were attached silent electrical propellers, bristling anti-missile and anti-artillery guns, and oodles of missile cells, as well as a cigar-shaped gas bag longer than her. This was one of the mysterious airship girls that had announced their arrival to this Earth in the most hostile manner available. And she was _pissed_.

"Stupid Canton, pissing off her own country," Artois, airship of the Marine Nationale, grumbled as she steadily made her way towards Canada. "Stupid Boche, sending me on this like some sort of _messenger boy_. And stupid _fucking_ Vernazza, falling for a trick like that!"

And really, her Italian comrade deserved the mental reaming she was giving her. A food trail. A fucking _food trail._ That was what had gotten her captured by the Canadians. Of all the things! Yeah, the Italians had kinda started starving during the Second Great War, when she was built, but that was no fucking excuse to fall for that basic a trick! Oh well, it was done, and now she could work out her frustrations on a deserving target: the _fucking_ Canadian Navy.

Oh, yes. She hadn't forgotten St. Nazaire. Nosirree.

~o~

Down on the sea, obscured by cloud cover from Artois' radar systems, a cloaked figure threaded southwards through the islands of the Alaskan Panhandle. Her sister was in trouble. She could sense it. And for all that she was a fugitive and cracked in the head, protecting her sisters was always her first priority.

~o~

It has been said that chaos needs no recipe. But if there was, these would be the ingredients.

~o~

"This was a bad plan!" HMCS Nootka wailed as another antiship missile crashed into the sea just behind her cover, spraying her with water. "We are bad people!"

"What's this we shit, Kemosabe?!" HMCS Huron demanded. "This was your idea! And I only found out two minutes before this clusterfuck started!"

"I just wanted some air cover or AA firepower!"

Gritting her teeth, Huron peeked over their meager cover, taking in the scene and mentally running through the events that had led up to this. First, it had been her finding Nootka steadily feeding a stream of high-calorie foods to two Japanese ships, Wakatsuki and Amagi, and what looked for all the world like an Italian airship girl similar to the one that had clobbered Chester some months back. Then Shimotsuki and Teruzuki had shown up demanding their sister back, then a mysterious cloaked figure that could only be Aso had barged in demanding Amagi, and _then_ that airship bitch Artois had dropped a missile on their heads to get at her fellow airship, with the result that an already tense situation between the two Japanese destroyers and their traitorous ex-comrade had exploded into violence against the airship and each other, and _then_ a small Abyssal task force had decided to show up to the party, turning it into a four-way Mêlée à Trois.

And the baited shipgirls had _still_ not budged from their eating.

Currently, Aso and Teruzuki and Shimotsuki were studiously ignoring each other, splitting their fire between Artois and the Abyssals, though more focused on the former. Artois, for her part, was avoiding their shots or shooting them down, and taking the occasional potshot at them, but was focusing most of her firepower on the Abyssals. And the Abyssals were just dying. Painfully. Huron winced as what looked like a warhead jammed full of white phosphorus lit up an Abyssal Tsu-class light cruiser, the humanoid abomination screaming in pain.

Suddenly, though, contacts popped up on both her air search and surface search radar systems. Artois and the Abyssals noticed, too, swinging to face this new threat. The Abyssals, unfortunately for them, barely had time to react before Des Moines, Salem, and Newport News slammed into them like an angry mountain, while Artois was swarmed by a cloud of Hellcat, Corsair, and Tigercat fighters.

It did not escape Huron's notice that she was doing a damn good job at fending them off.

"Nootka, go get... Vernazza or whatever her name was, and _get her to her friend,"_ Huron growled. "We need to get her off the board, especially since Aso's liable to bolt any second now."

"Aye aye!"

~o~

Teruzuki lowered her guns; with this Artois getting swarmed by fighters, best to reserve her barrel life for the more important target. So thought, she turned, pinning Aso with a glare. Or rather, it _had_ to be Aso. The cloak, the concern for Amagi...

"Aso!" the destroyer shouted, aiming her guns at the rogue carrier. "Don't make this hard on herself!" To emphasize the point, she shifted her leg and the torpedo launcher on it; behind her, she felt Shimotsuki moving to back her up.

Though she couldn't see Aso's eyes under the hood of the cloak, Teruzuki got the distinct feeling Aso wasn't impressed.

"I'm sorry, Teruzuki," she said, confirming her identity. "But I can't go back to Japan just yet."

Taking a deep breath, Aso suddenly belched out a stream of oily black smoke that, due to the wind, blew into the two destroyers' eyes and sent them into a coughing fit. By the time the smoke cleared, Aso was gone.

"Aww..." Shimotsuki groaned.

"She's become quite the escape artist..." Teruzuki muttered.

Any further thought on Aso was abruptly ended by a human missile (read: Wakatsuki) glomping onto Shimotsuki, a sheepish Amagi catching Teruzuki's attention. Not to mention Salem steaming up to them, eyeing the two airships that were by now mere specks in the distance.

"Oriskany's not going to be happy," the cruiser informed them. "Artois shot down a lot of their fighters, and she didn't even slow down." She stared at Amagi, who blushed. "A food trail. Seriously?"

"Shut up," Amagi muttered. "You Americans don't know what it's like, nearly starving like that!"

"We don't," Salem shrugged. "And wince we did catch the culprits, Oriskany's just going to go play Doom for a few hours instead of inflicting her... 'discipline' on us."

At this point, Porter steamed up to them, holding Nootka in front of her. "Got her!"

"Uh, so, if we can all be reasonable about-"

Suddenly, Salem, Amagi, and Teruzuki were looming over the Canadian destroyer, eyes glowing.

"Guess not," she squeaked.


	99. Rule 2325

**Rule 2325. For the love of god, if you're going to have sexual relations, do it in your quarters or somewhere where we won't hear you. Supply closets are not sound proofed.**

For once, Noriko Kamata and Iku were _not_ banging each other relentlessly at all hours of the day _and_ night. Instead, they were curled up on a couch wrapped up in a shared blanket and nursing cups of tea as they watched a sappy Korean drama.

As the episode ended and Noriko wiped her tears and began queueing up the next one, Iku suddenly perked up, some strands of hair quivering.

"Noriko..." Iku breathed, before suddenly throwing off the blanket. "I must go. My porno sense is tingling."

Noriko sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, go help whoever it is that got that tingling," she drawled, before muttering, "Still don't think that exists..."

By then, Iku was already out the door, homing in on where her sixth sense was taking her. Twists and turns and stares at her being in a casual outfit instead of her usual swimsuit later, she came across a crowd of (hopefully) off-duty sailors all pressed up to the door of an out-of-the-way supply closet. And even without submarine hearing it was easy to hear why; the lewd moans, loud thumps, and wet sliding were all very familiar to the lewdmarine and very audible to normal human ears even at this distance.

Oh, and some of the sailors were starting to undo their pants, and that just wouldn't do!

Clearing her throat, Iku also clapped her hands, the twin sounds causing all the sailors to flinch and then tumble together in a heap.

"Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?" the submarine smirked.

Several of the sailors blushed, though one enterprising individual smirked right back and jabbed his thumb at the door. "Yup! Wanna join in?" The lewd gleam in his eyes left little doubt what he intended by _that_ statement.

Still, while the idea of a nice gangbang was tempting, for once the lewdest of lewdmarines wasn't feeling it. This was a time for dispensing sage wisdom in the arts of lewdness, not indulging of lewd behavior. And not just because they were all only a few minutes away from being caught.

"I'll pass, thank you," she said. "I passed by Fubuki heading this way, y'see."

This time, every sailor had the same reaction: to pale dramatically, then scramble to their feet and run away. It was really quite comical, and Iku giggled at the sight. Once they were gone, she walked up to the supply closet and threw it open. And then her eyes widened in genuine surprise.

There were quite a few couples Iku had expected to find in this closet, but Zuikaku and Kaga, their clothes half off and their hands in very compromising positions, playing tonsil hockey was a bit outside her expectations. Still, as shocked as she was, the two carriers were practically paralyzed, and so the lewdmarine had her opening.

"Ladies," she greeted, falling into a curtsey. "A bit of advice: either learn to be quiet when you bang, or pick places that are a little more soundproofed. I could hear you all the way down the hall."

The blushes the two carriers now sported, the reddest red you could possibly imagine, made Iku wish she had a camera. Or Aoba.

"Anyway, you might want to get presentable. Fubuki's gonna be here _real_ soon."

That broke the paralysis, Zuikaku shoving Iku away and Kaga slamming the door shut. After a few minutes of ruffling, thumping, and muffled cursing, the two stepped out, disheveled and red-faced but presentable. Though... Iku snickered. Best not to mention that. Either way, their exit was not a moment too soon, for mere seconds after Fubuki swept around the nearest corner, stopping to take in the scene. A raised eyebrow was her only visible reaction.

"Dare I ask what's going on here?" she said.

"Oh, not much," Iku replied, grinning at the looks of relief both carriers adopted. "I was just giving our newest happy couple some... _love advice."  
_  
Fubuki blinked, Kaga and Zuikaku blanched - and then the destroyer-captain adopted a grin Iku had _never_ seen on a flag officer, only on line shipgirls. It was #17, 'Thanks for the blackmail opportunity!'

"Well, congratulations!" Fubuki cheerfully replied. "In fact, I should go spread the wonderful news to _everyone_ on base!"

Paralyzed once again, Kaga and Zuikaku could only watch in stunned horror as Fubuki trotted off and Iku collapsed into howls of laughter.

And then Fubuki poked her head back in. "Oh, also? _You're wearing each others' clothes._ "

Iku's laughter somehow intensified, while the two carriers bypassed red entirely for an odd shade of purple.


	100. Rule 2328

**Rule 2328. Any ship girl that tries new recipes must taste it themselves before serving it in the mess hall.**

"Hmm..." Hiei grumbled as she flipped through yet another cookbook. As happy as she was to have a style of cuisine she was actually _good at_ , the fact was that Southern comfort food was a tad limited in variety. No matter how many cookbooks she checked.

Setting that one aside, the battleship pulled out a new book, one that would hopefully expand her repertoire a bit. Cajun cuisine counted as Southern, right?

Besides, it looked so _simple.  
_  
Picking a seafood gumbo recipe, Hiei went to work. Rice, roux, a mix of shrimp, mackerel, and abalone... soon, Hiei had a pot of the finished product ready to be added to the rice. And with her newfound self-awareness about her cooking skills, she knew she wouldn't be sullying the rice with the... honestly, she couldn't call it gumbo, lest New Orleans pop up out of nowhere and beat her to a pulp for this travesty.

After all, gumbo wasn't supposed to be a sickly green and smell of fresh mummies, rotting vegetation, and all garnished with an odd urine stench.

"What the hell did I do wrong?" the battleship muttered, grabbing the cookbook and looking over the recipe. Unfortunately, before she could get very far a hissing sound caught her attention and forced her to scramble to get the gumbo from hell into a proper cast iron pot, as the original pot had started to _dissolve._ And once that was done, a knock at the door forced her to open it.

"Kuma?" she said, puzzled at the cruiser at her door. "What are you doing here?"

"Punishment duty," Kuma grumbled. "I _might_ have eaten most of today's salmon stock."

A streak of annoyance shot through Hiei - she _liked_ salmon, too, dammit! - and then she eyed the cast iron pot still filled with the gumbo from hell. An evil idea occurred to her, and she asked Kuma, "So, did they say what sort of punishment?"

"Well, no just that you'd set it."

Hiei grinned. It was not a nice grin, and Kuma turned white upon seeing it.

"Why don't you try a new recipe I just made?"

And now she turned ashen grey.

Hiei clapped a hand on the light cruiser's shoulder. "Let's get started, shall we?"

~o~

Kirishima raised her hand to the door to the kitchen Hiei had commandeered for "experiments", then lowered the hand, then raised it again, this time actually knocking. Yes, she would probably find horrors beyond horrors just past this door, but she had to be sure said horrors would not be inflicted on the greater base.

Hiei opened the door, looking none worse for the wear. More importantly, there were no shambling food-based monstrosities, the kitchen was intact, and the fumes were... unpleasant but didn't make her want to faint, vomit, and scream all at the same time.

Huh.

"Oh, hey, Kirishima, what's up?"

"Just checking on your experiments," the battleship said.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Hiei airily replied. "I got a taste-tester!"

Eyes wide, Kirishima shoved past Hiei and- oh. It was the salmon-eater. Tied to a chair. And looking rather green, but otherwise whole.

The battleship had to revise that statement when Kuma turned to look at her. Her eyes were wild, crazed, and brimming with despair. "Kill me..." she moaned. "End my torment!"

"Oh, come on!" Hiei snapped. "My gumbo's been getting better, and we haven't even started on the jambalaya! You can't be dying just yet! And once the alligator meat arrives I have so many ideas!"

As Hiei ran to get a batch of jambalaya started up, Kirishima quietly edged out of the room. Clearly her sister was in one of her moods, and she had no desire to be unwittingly be roped into taste-testing herself. Kuma she had little sympathy for; she'd been looking forward to salmon sashimi, dammit! And besides, this clearly wasn't anywhere _near_ as bad as her usual cooking projects, and definitely wasn't hitting the mess anytime soon.

She could leave it alone.


	101. Rule 2334

**Rule 2334. Alleged wrongdoings by any friendly Abyssals must be reported through the proper channels. You do not try to break into their part of the base to "extract justice from the fiends".**

"Alright, I'm moving through the woods right now," Columbus reported through her headset, getting a chorus of affirmatives from the rest of her teammates. "Still don't see the enemy, I-"

Onscreen, her tank nosed through the trees - and right into a pair of 122mm barrels pointed straight at her.

"Motherfuck!" the heavy cruiser yelped, immediately throwing her tank in reverse. Too late; both 122mm shells slammed into her tank, followed up by an 88 from further away, that combined knocked her out of the game. "For fuck's sake!"

 _"You're out, then?"_ she heard Santa Fe ask.

"Yeah, I'm out," Columbus sighed, slumping back into her chair. "Two IS-2s, right in front of my face, and they had something with a long-range gun further back."

 _"Gotcha, we'll- OH SHIT!"  
_  
Columbus groaned as she watched the rest of her team get flatly demolished. Even Topeka managing to ambush and destroy one of their opponents' light tanks didn't take the sting out of the crushing defeat. Ironically, the sheer magnitude of the defeat helped, because clearly they were just completely outclassed. No boneheaded mistakes. No little slip-ups. Just a superior opponent kicking their asses.

 _'Rianna sends her regards, noobs.'  
_  
And then that chat message came through. A chat message that was both mocking and pointed to a culprit: one of the Allied Abyssals. Her anger roaring to the for again, Columbus stood, grabbed her best football cleats, and then stormed out of her room in high dudgeon.

~o~

The Allied Abyssal quarters were not terribly personalized. As much as they liked having access to human conveniences, most of the former monsters had a restless need to stay at sea, and so generally used the quarters set aside for them as they would hotel rooms.

Ayase, of course, was an exception. She was best friends with Chester, after all, and after Canton had nearly murdered her had been very reluctant to get too far away from the heavy cruiser.

As such, she was sitting in the lounge out front, reading something on her tablet, when Columbus kicked the door down with her football cleats.

[Hey, whoa, what are you doing?!] Ayase howled.

"Stand aside, Ayase!" Columbus shouted back. "I'm here to extract justice!"

[Justice for wha-] Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. A crazy idea that she didn't want to be true, but an idea. [Are you seriously this salty about losing that World of Tanks match?]

"You... were on... that team?" Columbus ground out.

[Yes, I was. And seriously, you need to calm down and-]

With a howl of rage, Columbus surged forward and attempted to tackle Ayase to the ground so she could apply her +2 Cleats of Stomping. Key word being _tried._ Even standing, Ayase might as well have been a mountain for all that she moved. Which is to say, not at all. Columbus' anger evaporated, replaced by creeping dread. Slowly, she looked up into Ayase's electric blue eyes.

"I just fucked up, didn't I?"

[Yup,] was the answer, the 'p' popped for better effect. Ayase smiled, eyes drawn into slits, her hand grabbing the cruiser by her collar. [Because guess who's visiting today?]

And with that, she spun Columbus around to face another Abyssal she hadn't noticed was sitting in the lounge. An Abyssal dressed in a snappy suit who had been going over a printed speech.

Wreck.

[Heeeeey,] Wreck said, her pointed teeth all exposed and her head tilted to one side.

"Mommy..." Columbus whimpered.


	102. Rule 2340

**Rule 2340. Please do not attempt advanced yoga if you are not flexible enough.**

Akatsuki stomped towards Desdiv 6's quarters, her foul mood palpable and everyone who noticed - which was most of the people she passed - adjusted course to give her a wide berth. The reason for this foul mood was that she had just tried another expensive coffee blend in hopes of finding _that one_ , and not only had it not been _that one_ , it been outright disgusting. The destroyer had long since graduated to straight black coffee in her quest, but this was foul and undrinkable even drowned in enough milk and sugar to make a Starbucks barista go "Whoa there, maybe that's a bit much."

Still fuming, she threw the door to her and her sisters' quarters with a loud bang, and then stopped, blinking in confusion. On a mat in the middle of the room was Ikazuchi undergoing what was either some elaborate form of self-torture, contortionist practice, or a very advanced yoga move. The exercise clothes her sister wore, as well as the zen music coming from the shared speakers, suggested the latter.

And advanced yoga it was, because Akatsuki was familiar with the normal stuff and she didn't recognize this at all. The effect was amazing: boisterous, boyish and not-elegant-at-all Ikazuchi looked, well, the very image of elegance.

Suddenly, Ikazuchi ended the stretch, and Akatsuki became aware that she had been staring open-mouthed. And from the smirk on her face, her sister knew it.

"You don't tell anyone about this and I won't tell 'em about you staring at me like a lovestruck schoolgirl?" Ikazuchi offered.

"Sure..." Akatsuki muttered, an embarrassed flush on her face. "So... advanced yoga?"

"Learned straight from Indian masters!" Ikazuchi bragged. "Seriously. I have the certificates to prove it. And before you ask, I'm doing this because it's really good at relieving stress." She eyed Akatsuki, the destroyer flinching under the scrutiny. "Something you could probably use, come to think of it. Alright, bend over and try to touch your toes."

Frowning, Akatsuki mentally shrugged and did so, fingers easily brushing her shoes.

"Alright, clasp your hands behind your back, under and over."

This, too, was easily done.

"Uh, so, why am I doing this?" she asked.

"Hmm..." Ikazuchi hummed, before nodding. "Alright, I think you're flexible to try some of the more basic exercises. You game?"

The sight of inelegant Ikazuchi being incredibly elegant ran through her mind, and Akatsuki knew her answer. "Yes, please!"

"Alright, now, sit down on the mat, and I'll work you through the first one..."

~o~

Some minutes later, Inazuma could be seen walking back to the same room, deep in thought. Her mind was dissecting an interview she'd had with Fubuki shortly before. Had the destroyer been a little more worldly, she would have known that the entire thing was a job interview; as it was, she was simply confused about the whole thing and some of the questions. Of course she knew where she'd be in five years; there would probably still be Abyssals that needed killing, after all, why ask?

"YAAAAARGH!"

That confusion was promptly chased away by a scream that she recognized.

"Akatsuki!" she breathed, sprinting for the door.

Another scream sounded out. "AUGH, NO, ELBOWS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BEND THAT WAY!"

"C'MON, YOU WIMP!" Ikazuchi's voice sounded out. "WE'VE ALMOST GOT THIS, DAMMIT!"

Picking up the pace despite her confusion at what was going on (seemed to be a theme today), Inazuma threw the door open - right as Ikazuchi's wrenched Akatsuki's arm just the wrong way, her elbow coming apart with a sickening snapping sound.

Also, Akatsuki was tied up in a pretzel. What?

"AUGH, FUCK!" Akatsuki howled.

"Eheheh, sorry," Ikazuchi chuckled sheepishly. "I guess you were right about the elbow, huh?"

"Y'THINK?!"

Shaking her confused paralysis, Inazuma finally reacted appropriately. "WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE, NANODESU?!" she demanded.

"Advanced yoga lessons, but, uh..." Ikazuchi glanced down at Akatsuki, who had managed to untangle herself but was cradling her ruined elbow. "She's not quite flexible enough, I guess."

"Just get me to the repair baths already!" Akatsuki snapped.

"And once you're done with that," Inazuma added, her tone dark. "We're going to have a _talk_ , nanodesu."


	103. Rule 2349

**Rule 2349. Whoever asked Kongo about her sex life, please don't ask her again. We still can't get the picture of Kongo having sex with Goto live on Skype out of our minds.  
**  
"Running over?" Kongo repeated, unable to keep a bit of whine out of her voice.

 _"Unfortunately,"_ Admiral Goto grumbled. _"Admiral Colombo had another anxiety attack mid-meeting, so we had to adjourn early. Again."  
_  
"The Italians really need to find a replacement for that poor man," Kongo stated, sitting back in her seat with a huff. "He's going to break entirely at this rate."

 _"Not that the rest of us are doing much better. Holloway is popping anti-anxiety meds like they're grapes, Graham has been very clearly questioning his life choices since he got here, Lombard tried to set the conference room on fire (not that I blame her) yesterday, and Masson nearly put Littorio through one of the walls when she announced lunch today."  
_  
"And what about you, Admiral?" Kongo queried in concern.

 _"Stressed, but sane. That vacation really did me good on that front."  
_  
A lecherous grin spread across Kongo's face as she recalled _everything_ they'd done on that trip. Leaning forward, her elbow pressing a button on her computer, she said, "Oh? You mean like when we-"

 _"Hang on."_ Goto pulled away briefly from the video chat, fiddled with something in the background, and then sat back down. _"Proceed."  
_  
Kongo opened her mouth to elaborate, only for someone to knock at her door. Sighing in frustration, she stood and practically threw the door open.

"What," she growled, though her expression softened when she saw that it was Kirishima at the door. "Oh. Sorry, you interrupted something."

"I can leave..." her younger sister offered.

"No, no, don't worry about it, it can wait," Kongo said. "What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Kirishima visibly steeled herself - and also blushed. "Ah, well, Wash wants to spice up our sex life a bit, and since you're... fairly experienced..."

"You want some advice?" Kongo said, internally grinning. Looks like her plans were still in effect. "Of course, of course! What kind of big sister would I be if I didn't give advice on BURNING LOVE! when asked? I hope you don't mind Admiral joining in, some of these ideas are his..."

As Kongo and Goto went into graphic detail on their sex life, Kirishima blushing, nodding, and taking copious notes, none of them noticed that Kongo's little elbow press earlier had started a new Skype feature that automatically uploaded the video feed to Youtube as a livestream. Why Skype thought this feature was useful is something only God knows, and it was gone in the next update. Here in the present, though only a few people saw it at first, that number rapidly expanded.

~o~

"Wow..." Lieutenant Kamata breathed as she heard Kongo lecture, Admiral Goto occasionally interjecting.

"I know, right?" Iku said, throwing up her hands. "I didn't realize you could do things like that with fruit! We gotta try that!"

~o~

"Is- Is that even physically possible?" Enterprise wondered weakly.

"With battleship durability? Apparently..." Yamato muttered.

~o~

"Ooooh, if they're livestreaming this, what are their _sex videos_ like?" Kisaragi wondered, idly wiping away a stream of drool.

~o~

"Yo, sis, you seeing this?" Kinugasa hollered.

"Nope! Not seeing that!" Aoba shouted back. "Gotta stay away from the temptation!"

~o~

The Taffy 3 destroyers sat around their computer, giggling over the livestream. For all that they'd had "The Talk", sex still assumed a rather clinical context in the young destroyers' minds. As such, Kongo's words, stripped of that usual context, were humorous, rather than mind-breakingly kinky.

"Hey, what are you guys watch- ACK!"

New Jersey, sadly, did have that context, and so did not get the joke.

~o~

"- and after that is the cuddling!" Kongo finished.

"You've said that after every position and method," Kirishima noted.

"What? Cuddling's good!"

"It's not a bad idea or anything, just an observation." Looking up, Kirishima glanced at the computer monitor and then leaned closer. "What's Skype up to?"

"Skype?" Kongo parroted, glancing over at the screen. Her eyes promptly widened as she realized what, exactly, the program was doing. "OH NOOOOOOOO!"

Admiral Goto was more emphatic. _"SON OF A BITCH! IT'S BEEN STREAMING THIS THE WHOLE TIME?!"_

And that, Kirishima decided, was a sign that it was time to go. Standing and sneaking past her panicking sister, she reached up and unscrewed the nearest vent cover before jumping in.


	104. Rule 2353

**Rule 2353. Abyssal Arizona is not to be let out of sight until such time as the medication can be brought from San Francisco.  
**  
"Where's her meds, where's her meds..." Kearsarge muttered as she frantically rummaged through the cabinet she kept the pills in.

[MWAHAHAHAHA! FOOLS! YOU CANNOT STAND UP TO THE MIGHT OF THE MARTYR EMPRESS!]

The crane ship winced, and picked up the pace. Of all the times for Arizona's medication to vanish! Then West Virginia crashed though the wall, demolished the medicine cabinet, sent Kearsarge tumbling, and made the whole search moot anyway. Once the dust settled...

"Owowowowow..." the crane ship groaned as she moved into a sitting position, West Virginia catching her breath sprawled out on the floor. "Any luck stopping her?"

"We're wearing her down!" West Virginia cheerfully reported. "But, uh, just in case, we've got Oriskany and her group out on the water and Maury making a sprint down to San Francisco to get more medication. Just in case, y'know?"

There was a loud splash, followed by an even louder, somewhat distorted whoop of freedom. At the same time, Pennsylvania staggered into the room, looking like she'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime.

"I'm sorry, she got to the water," the battleship groaned, before collapsing into her face.

"Sure," Kearsarge snarked at West Virginia. "Just in case."

The battleship didn't answer in favor of thunking her head on the concrete.

~o~

The Martyr Empress grinned as she sped straight for Hawaii as fast as her enhanced turbines could push her. Once she reached that traitorous Central Princess, she could bring her back over to the Abyss, and then _destroy_ all shipgirls! She glanced above her head where American scout bombers were circling, and while she took the occasional potshot at them with her AA guns, mostly she ignored them. They were smart; they couldn't stop her, after all.

The battleship that had parked itself in her path wasn't nearly so smart.

"Arizona, stop right there!" Iowa declared. "I won't let you reach Hawaii!"

[Let?] the Martyr Empress repeated, grinning cruelly. [Like you even have a choice in the matter.] Putting on a burst of speed, the former shipgirl burst off the surface of the water, before planting both boots in Iowa's face and then continuing on, barely even slowing down. Behind her, Iowa collapsed into the water, two boot prints visible on her face.

The sound of propellers suddenly caught her attention, and she glanced up to see a number of twin-engine planes nosing over into attack runs, large gun barrels sticking out from under their noses. Tigercats, obviously heavily modified, but only a dozen of them.

[Fools!] she crowed. Though she didn't slow down, she also didn't fire, clearly communicating what she thought of this attack. [Your puny guns and bombs won't-!]

The guns fired, but instead of bullets, hypodermic darts shot out of the guns. And since she hadn't bothered to defend against the strafing attack, the Martyr Empress ate a full dozen of them to her back.

And these darts weren't filled with anything as weaksauce as _sedatives.  
_  
[Curses...] the Martyr Empress groaned as she slumped to the water, her colors returning to her. "Foiled again..."


	105. Rule 2361

**Rule 2361. Hacking into the Admiralty's private chat lines will result in tug duties and weapons lockout for 1 year per incident.  
**  
"This... shall be my greatest accomplishment yet!" Provence shout-whispered as she tapped away in her computer's command line interface. Very few people knew that, in addition to her study of avian biology, the battleship was probably the second best of the Mad Science shipgirls at computer work, second only to the Yuubari twins. Computers were just _so_ much more tractable than her avian projects.

She'd hacked government databases, tech company servers, banks, and in one memorable case, had replaced 1 in every 10 Chinese government links with a Rickroll. What could surpass those feats?

Hacking into the Admiralty Chatroom, which had been locked tighter than a nun's asshole by the Yuubari twins themselves. Besides the challenge of it all, she'd get all _kinds_ of dirt on the Admirals, dirt that she could hopefully use to coerce Admiral Masson into giving her free reign. Soon, they would have true bird cavalry! Mwahahaha!

Ahem.

Provence eyed a poster she'd tacked to the wall: "Today, Toulon. Tomorrow, Toulon! Don't get greedy." Her brain reminded, she went back to work.

Finally, hours later, she cracked the code, and began pulling up the chat logs. Even just her brief glances at the archives had her drooling; oh, so much blackmail material! Digging a little deeper, she spotted something that seemed to be an _active_ chat log. Perfect!

Provence clicked on the chat log, and began to read.

Mason13: Colombo, don't leave!

Mason13: COLOMBOOOOOOO!

pastamiral: NO! I'M FUCKING DONE! _I'M FUCKING DONE!_

Mason13: No you're not!

pastamiral: THIS IS BULLSHIT! THIS IS FUCKING _BULLSHIT!_

pastamiral: WHAT IS THIS!

pastamiral: WHAT IS THIS!

pastamiral: WHAT IS MY LIFE!

pastamiral: I can't do it, Masson!

Mason13: I can't do it either!

pastamiral: I can't fucking do it anymore-!

Mason13: WELL I'LL TELL YA WHAT, COLOMBO! YOU CAN GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGUREITOUT! BECAUSE I CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND I KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT ME!

pastamiral: *sniffs*

pastamiral: I appreciate it... but look what we're dealing with here!

Tei~to~kuuuuu: Colombo...

pastamiral: You gotta draw a line somewhere!

FishTacos: Colombo...

pastamiral: You gotta draw the _fucking_ line in the sand!

Not a cracker: Colombo!

pastamiral: You gotta make a statement! You gotta look inside yourself and say, "What am I willing to put up with today?" _NOT FUCKING THIS!  
_  
Italbar: You need so much mental help it's not even funny.

Tei~to~kuuuuu: Lombard, shut up.

Face carefully blank, Provence pulled out of the chat and deleted the archived logs she'd already saved. Blackmail would have been nice, but this... No. She couldn't take advantage of this. And more importantly, she needed to talk to Roma about this, see if they had anyone who could take over for Admiral Colombo. Goto's month off had done him plenty of good, though the Italian Admiral might need two months.

Then the door to the room was thrown open, Provence collapsed screaming to the floor clutching her eyes, and Jean Bart sighed.

"Get up," she ordered. "Yuubari noticed your little stunt, and while you seem to have closed your back door behind you, we are not encouraging more attempts like this. Your weapons will be locked, your lab will be given over to a caretaker, and you're on tug duty until further notice."

Eyes recovered just enough, Provence shot a baleful glare at the younger battleship. "You don't know what you're doing."

~o~

 _Tomorrow:  
_  
"I hate to say I told you so," Provence said, the epitome of smugness. "Buuuut I told you so."

Jean Bart just sighed, while Paris ran around screaming, a sharp-toothed chicken-like creature clamped onto her stern and more of Provence's menagerie chasing her.

"Fine, you can get back to your lab," the battleship conceded.

Sniffing haughtily, Provence stepped forward. "Let me show you how a _true_ scientist handles their creations," she sneered. "All of you!"

As one, the birds all came to a halt and stared at the battleship, Paris taking the opportunity to extricate herself from the situation and the chicken-like creature from her stern and hide behind Jean Bart.

"I am your creator, and I order you to stand down!"

The birds glanced at each other, and made a decision. That decision was to start chasing down Provence like they had Paris, and the younger battleship reacted much the same way: running around and screaming.

"D-Does that ever work?" Paris wondered.

"Doubt it."


	106. Rule 2362

**Rule 2362. Hiring yourselves out as bodyguards is to be approved by Admiralty.  
**  
"Why in the hell does _she_ need a bodyguard?" Fresno muttered, eyeing Wreck as she worked up a crowd. She and her sister Spokane were standing behind Wreck on the stage of the convention center they were in, mostly looking intimidating.

"Because she doesn't want to actually _kill_ anybody if they attack her or she needs to get through the crowd?" Spokane muttered back. "And that you wanted some actual action and experience since we barely get to sortie?"

"Oh, right."

With that, the two cruisers turned their attention back to the crowd, which was shouting and cheering at Wreck's words and gestures. They had little experience with these sorts of rallies, but everything seemed good. And, in fact, everything was good. The rally ended, Wreck schmoozed with a few donors and more sincerely talked to some of the crowd, and then they left.

That was when the problems started. Outside the small convention center where the rally had been held was a triple line of protesters, the front line linking hands in a human wall while the back two held up signs, and all were chanting slogans. Frankly, neither Wreck nor her bodyguards gave much of a fuck about _what_ they were protesting, though it seemed like some kind of anarchist ideology of the kind that had grown into prominence over the last few years and somehow, cockroach-like, survived the Abyssal War and the necessary expansion of government power.

More importantly, they were blocking the way to their car.

Fresno took the lead, marching up to a nearby police officer keeping an eye on the crowd. "How far around does this go?" she asked.

"They've encircled the entire building," the officer replied. "And they're not letting anyone through. We've called it in, but it's going to take time to get enough men here to clear this up."

Nodding, Fresno thank the officer and made her way back, noting to her dismay that Wreck's tail was twitching back and forth in impatience, though her face was studiously calm.

"So, what's the word?" Spokane whispered. "I don't think Wreck's gonna wait much longer."

"Going around's a no-go," Fresno answered. She sent a baleful glare towards the protestors. "We gotta go through. Follow my lead, and don't let Wreck touch _anything_."

As Spokane relayed the plan to Wreck, Fresno stepped up to the nearest protestor and looked him dead in the eye. "You have one chance to move out of the way before I make you," she informed him.

"Fuck you, bitch!"

"Well, I tried." And with that, the cruiser reached out and grabbed the protestor under the armpits and lifted him up despite his indignant squawks.

Almost immediately, the rest of the crowd turned as one towards her.

"Aw, shit."

~o~

Admiral Holloway tossed a newspaper onto his desk, Fresno attempting to wiggle even deeper into the chair she was sitting in. "Shipgirls attack protestors!", the headline blared, with an embarrassing photo of her getting dogpiled, a pair of fingers pulling at her cheek. Of course, it wasn't all her being a victim. Several bodies could be seen flying away in the background of the photo. She glanced to her left, where Spokane was clearly trying very hard not to burst into laughter.

"And this is why bodyguards get professional training," Holloway stated. "Wreck was able to spin things in a positive way, and nobody likes this group, but the optics of it are still awful. She's not happy."

Both cruisers blanched, Fresno not laughing inside anymore.

"Luckily for you two, she seems content with just a firing."

And sighs of relief.

"Consider your little side business revoked," Holloway stated, his tone brooking no argument. "As for punishments, I'll let _her_ handle things."

The door slid open, and Spokane and Fresno turned to find Juneau standing in the door, a smile on her face that was accompanied by a twitch in her cheek.

"Hey, girls."


	107. Rule 2365

**2365: From now on, when you are near the laboratory of any SCIENCE!Girl, the instant you hear the word "Ooops!" you will proceed, in a calm and orderly manner, to run for your life screaming for help and to inform the on base Admiral of the new mess.**

*crack!*

"Oops!"

Manchester froze mid-step, swaying slightly on her one foot. Normally, "Oops" wasn't something to get overly worried about. "Oops" wasn't strong enough for anything that would incite panic.

"Normally" being the operative word. Repulse and Vanguard _were_ cause for panic, Vanguard more so than Repulse, because when Repulse said "oops" it was still possible to stop her from inflicting her "oops" on anyone else. Vanguard? Not so much.

And in case you haven't guessed, yes, that was Vanguard in the first line.

Faced with this imminent danger, Manchester did the only thing she could: she sucked in a deep breath, and then _screamed_ at the top of her lungs before sprinting away at flank speed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

~o~

"What the devil is that noise?" Admiral Collingwood wondered.

"I... think that's Manchester screaming?" King George V supplied.

CHOW!

Both shipgirl and admiral sighed as a ball of flame and smoke burst out of Vanguard's lab, accompanied by the sound of an explosion.

"Oh, that's why," they deadpanned in unison.

"I'll call the minesweepers and tell them to put on their EOD suits," King George V sighed, standing and making to leave.

"Honey!"

Only for Admiral Collingwood's voice to stop her.

"Yeah?" she said over her shoulder.

Wordlessly, Collingwood held up her shirt and jacket, prompting the battleship to blush. She quickly grabbed the clothing and threw it on before finally leaving.

~o~

"So, what do you have for me?"

A half hour later found the battleship standing behind several minesweepers as they painstakingly cleared what appeared to _submunitions_ that Vanguard's latest experiment had left scattered all over the place.

"Well, these are arils," HMS Seagull reported as she carefully picked up one of said submunitions. "The juicy things that encase pomegranate seeds. How Vanguard got them to explode with enough force to dent armor plating is beyond me."

"Speaking of which, can you hurry up a bit?" Vanguard called from where she sat in the only bare patch of concrete in the lab. The battleship was blackened and scorched from the explosion she'd blocked with her face, and was warily eyeing the arils scattered around her. "This is making me really nervous..."

"Suck it up, you brought this on yourself!" Harrier, one of the other minesweepers, snapped back.

"Yes, but Vanguard has a point, too," said King George V. "How long is this going to take?"

"Ask us again in three hours," Gleaner grunted.

A loud groan sounded out from Vanguard, and King George V let a bit of sympathy creep into her. "I'll get you a book," she said. "And I'll need to talk policy with our shipgirls, we should not have found out about this via explosion."

~o~

*crack!*

"Oops!"

Much as in Scapa, the shipgirls of San Diego knew that there were varying levels of "Oops". Wasp, visiting from Norfolk, did not know this, and thus was a little surprise when Hornet immediately ran for Holloway's office, screaming "AAAAAAADMIRAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL!" at the top of her lungs, not to mention Yorktown slinging her over her shoulder.

"Isn't this a little extreme for an 'oops'?" she said, especially when _other_ shipgirls began streaming past them.

"You spend any time here, you learn to dread Phoenix's 'oopsies'," Yorktown replied. "They tend to have a 'minimum safe distance'."


	108. Rule 2368

**Rule 2368. A friendly reminder: pulling rank on the Coast Guard does not work. An admiral may outrank you, but an MP on duty outranks everyone.**

Wright tromped through San Diego, shipgirls and sailors alike parting to let her pass the second they got a look at her expression. It was the face of a determined bureaucrat armed with orders from on high, and nobody wanted any part of that. Soon, she made her way to her destination: namely, the pharmacy, where she was picking up some... somewhat under-the-table sleeping pills for Admiral Holloway, who was currently grappling with a bout of insomnia. Of course, Admiral Holloway didn't know this; his wife had arranged all of this, but in Wright's mind, Mrs. Holloway was the only one who ranked higher than her Admiral. With such authority, how could anyone refuse her?

"Sorry, but we're dealing with a bomb threat right now. You'll have to come back later."

Wright glared at USCGC Half Moon, who was parked in front of a line of police tape. Luckily, she had a way around this.

"I have signed orders from the Admiral right here," she said, handing them over.

Half Moon took the papers, and quickly scanned them, before throwing the secretary ship a dubious look. "This is forged," she deadpanned. "Besides, even if it was orders from the Admiral, I wouldn't be letting you in."

"And how many of your fellow Coast Guard can tell?" The silence from the cutter was very telling. "Thought so. Besides, this was all written by Admiral Holloway's wife, and I outrank you anyway, so-"

"I don't care if the gods-damned _Virgin Mary_ descends from the heavens and tells us to let you in, I'm not letting you in!" Half Moon snapped. "So if you'd kindly _fuck off_ and let us do our jobs, maybe I won't shove my nightstick up your pole-stuffed ass sideways!"

Wright opened her mouth to fire back, only for her to spot Phoenix, dressed in an EOD suit, bursting out of the pharmacy looking like the hounds of hell were on her heels. Eyes widening, Wright turned around and sprinted away, shouting "Maxim 3! Maxim 3!" over her shoulder. Annoying and obstructionist as the cutter was, she didn't want her hurt or dead.

Luckily, neither was Half Moon _stupid.  
_  
"I thought the Virgin Mary herself wasn't going to budge you?" Wright couldn't help but ask.

"Ordnance tech at a dead run outranks everybody!" Half Moon shouted back. _"Everybody!"  
_  
KA-BOOM!

Despite the distance, the resulting explosion still knocked all three shipgirls off their feet, and of course flatly obliterated the pharmacy. With smoke billowing out of the room and fires beginning to crackle within, Phoenix watched with an expression that was half awe and half disgust.

"I want to know who designed that thing so I can torture it out of them," she said. "Because Jesus Christ, the whole setup was just _fiendish."  
_  
"Good for you," Half Moon groaned. "Sound off!"

"Unimak, no damage!"

"Barataria, no damage!"

"Gresham, shrapnel in a... sensitive place, but otherwise fine!"

"Castle Rock, missing three toes and a finger!"

Half Moon cursed at that last one. "You forgot what Maxim 3 is, didn't you?"

"Oh, shut up!"


	109. Rule 2373

**Rule 2373. Whoever switched Akatsuki's daily chocolate drink with Black Blood of the Earth Coffee, step up NOW.  
**  
Pausing her pen at the sound of rustling sheets, Inazuma glanced up as a purple-haired zombie climbed out of Akatsuki's bed and staggered up to her. The destroyer took a moment to remember if Akatsuki had any more coffee left - she didn't - and then pasted on a bright smile.

"You're up early, nanodesu," she observed.

"Mrghrghl..." the zombie groaned, swaying in place.

"Maybe getting up early is ladylike, but zombifying yourself every morning probably isn't, nanodesu," Inazuma pointed out. "Your last coffee shipment is gone, but we do have hot chocolate."

"Mugugug..."

"I'll make sure to put in extra marshmallows, nanodesu."

Standing, Inazuma made her way to the hot plate Desdiv 6 kept in their room for this exact occasion. It sat on a counter next to Akatsuki's fancy expensive coffee machine, a pot usually just left sitting on the metal plate. Water was heated to boiling, the mix was... well, mixed in, and Inazuma had just finished pouring the drink when her phone began to ring.

"Of all the times," she grumbled, pulling it out and answering. "Hello? ... Oh, Fubuki! What's up, nanodesu?"

Her eyes widened at the other destroyer's reply, and she quickly but quietly moved to grab a pen and notepad, as Ikazuchi and Hibiki were still slumbering. "Hang on a second..." she muttered. While her back was turned, she didn't notice a ceiling panel slide away and a hand reach down, the cup of hot chocolate replaced by a cup of the blackest of black coffee. And the zombie of course, was in no position to see anything.

Pen and paper in hand, Inazuma began walking back, still talking on the phone. "Alright, I can write things down now. What did you need to tell me ... WHAT?!" The destroyer promptly stopped dead in her tracks, unconsciously throwing an incredulous look at the phone. "You want me to- what?! How?! Why me, nanodesu?! ... There's gotta be someone better with numbers on this base! Hell, we're shipgirls, we can do differential equations in our sleep, literally!" Now pacing, she unconsciously grabbed Akatsuki's mug as she walked by the counter. "Oh, of course, attention to detail. Yeah, I can see how that'd be a problem, nanodesu." Passing by the zombie, she handed off the mug, and began scribbling on the pad. "Alright. ... Uh-huh. ... Uh-huh. ... Got it. ... Really? ... Alright then. ... Okay, yeah, if that's everything-"

"Ara. My pajamas seem to be a bit... small."

Inazuma suddenly froze at the husky contralto that sounded out behind her, and slowly turned around. Sure enough, there was the adult Akatsuki that had gotten into a tussle with Kongo a few times, and boy did an innocent set of pajamas a bit loose on a ten-year-old look decidedly _un-_ innocent on a twenty-something woman.

"Well, I'd need to change anyway before meeting the admiral," Akatsuki purred, running her fingers along her lips. "I'll be right back, Inazuma dear." With that, Akatsuki turned and began to _strut_ away, hips swaying seductively.

"Fubuki, we've got a code purple-black," she said into her phone. "Repeat, a code purple-black."

 _"Aw,_ fuckdonkeys."

~o~

Akatsuki strutted towards Admiral Goto's office, reveling in the sailors walking into things in her wake. She glanced down at the tight, strapless purple dress she was wearing, the short skirt exposing acres of thigh. Oh, yes, she made this look _good_. Behind her trailed Inazuma and Fubuki like lost puppies. The two girls had tried to persuade her not to go, but she hadn't listened. The Admiral was her prize, her _proof_ that she had become a lady! Him and his iron resolve! And iron... _trouser titan_ , if what she remembered from that accidental livestream was correct.

Soon, she caught sight of the door to the office, and Akatsuki's eyes narrowed at who was standing in front of it. Her. Kongo. _The obstacle._ Though this time something was different. She didn't look angry this time, just... calculating. Akatsuki tensed, preparing for a confrontation.

She was not prepared for what actually happened. Kongo put on a sultry smile of her own, strutted up to Akatsuki, circled around her, and then slung an arm over her shoulder, drawing her in close.

"I know we've had our differences before," Kongo breathed, breath tickling Akatsuki's ear. "But I think we can come to a compromise. After all, there's enough of _all_ of us to go around." That last was accompanied by Kongo's finger trailing down Akatsuki's neck.

 _'What.'  
_  
While Akatsuki's mind rebooted, I will now take the time to explain _why_ Akatsuki was reacting this way. For all that the Black Blood of the Earth coffee turned Akatsuki into a sultry, fully adult seductress, her... adult-ness, for lack of a better term, was still limited by her old childlike mind. Normal male-female relationships were easy to imagine, especially after The Talk. A threesome? Not so much.

"AAAAAHHHHHH!"

As such, all sultriness fled Akatsuki as she screamed and tried to break out of Kongo's grip. The two destroyers behind her half-expected her to poof back to normal. "BAD TOUCH! BAD TOUCH! I NEED AN ADULT!"

"I am an adult," Kongo growled.

Now, it should be noted that Kongo wasn't actually _doing_ anything except holding Akatsuki. Not that that helped ease the destroyer's mind.

"I am conflicted, nanodesu," Inazuma muttered as she watched the scene.

"Meh, it cleaned this up with minimal fuss," Fubuki shrugged. "I don't see the problem."

Sniffing, Inazuma wiped away a few tears and sent up a prayer for her sister's mental health.


	110. Rule 2374

**Rule 2374. Who gave Nagato the Loli Pill? (The Loli Pill, the one that turns anyone not a Loli into a Loli for 2 days)**

Akashi glanced sidelong at Yuubari, who was happily humming away as she assisted the repair ship with rigging maintenance. Considering this was the _grumpy_ Yuubari, this was intensely suspicious.

"Alright, what did you make this time?" she asked.

"I'm glad you asked!" Yuubari bombastically declared, before reaching into her pocket. "I have-! Uh..." She stared down at her hand poking out under her skirt through the hole in her pocket. That was followed by her frantically patting herself down. "Oh shit."

Well, that wasn't a good sign. "What did you lose?" Akashi growled.

"Uh, well, you see..."

~o~

Mutsu eyed the small cylinder filled with round, brightly-colored candies. She'd found it lying on the ground, and, well, finders keepers! And they weren't like any candy she'd ever seen, either, which only made them more valuable.

Reaching her room, she stepped inside and popped open the cap, shaking one of the candies into her hand. It was red, smooth, and a little crumbly. Mentally shrugging she popped it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. It tasted good, like strawberries, but was also a bit chalky, but that quickly fled her mind. A puff of smoke engulfed her, and when it cleared Mutsu became aware of a sudden shift in perspective. The entire room suddenly seemed bigger, and her clothes were also falling off of her.

"What just happened?!" she yelped, flinching at her much higher-pitched voice. "What the hell?!" Scrambling out of her now too-big skirt, the battleship scampered over to her mirror, and froze at the sight within.

Somehow, the battleship had gone from a young woman who appeared to be in her twenties to a young girl about the same apparent age as the Akatsuki or Asashio classes. Also, her clothes, having not shrunken with her, were threatening to ruin her modesty. Grimacing, Mutsu trotted over to her closet and began rooting around in it, looking for _something_ suitable for her much younger frame. Eventually, she dug out a t-shirt that had shrunk in the wash and a cloth belt she used to secure it; the combo made for a halfway decent t-shirt dress she could use until she could borrow something more suitable.

"Sister, I-"

Mutsu promptly switched to cursing up a storm as Nagato stepped through her still-open door (Stupid. Stupid!) and froze at the sight of her little sister now in fun-size.

"Mutsu..." Nagato breathed. "Is... Is that..."

"Yeah, it's me," Mutsu replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. "Look, there's a good reason for-"

"Oh my stars you're so cute!" Nagato squealed, running over to Mutsu and picking her up and rubbing her cheek against her sister's.

"Get off, sis!" Mutsu snapped, arms flashing up to push Nagato away.

"Never!" Nagato wailed. "I shall love you and hold you and hug you forever! Hoppo-chan will have the little sister I promised!"

Gritting her teeth, Mutsu cast around for something that would distract her sister. Her eyes fell on the candies, and inspiration struck. "I have age-changing candies!" she shouted. "That's how I got this way!"

Instantly, Nagato froze, dumping Mutsu on her butt before running up to the candies and holding them up in an almost reverential manner. "Yes..." she breathed.

At the expression on her sister's face, Mutsu felt a chill run down her spin. _'Oh no, what have I unleashed?!'_

~o~

Fifteen minutes later found Yuubari and Akashi retracing the latter's steps. For the third time.

"Someone must have taken them," Akashi pointed out.

"I am actively avoiding thinking about that possibility," Yuubari said.

"Why?"

"Nagato."

Akashi considered that and shuddered. "Point taken." She frowned, glancing about. "Does the air feel greasy to you, or is it just me?"

"It's not just you," Yuubari muttered as they turned a corner. "I-" The cruiser froze, wide-eyed in terror. "Oh shit. Worst-case scenario."

When Akashi got a good look at the scene, she agreed. Strenuously. Nagato, in her Super Nagamon form, occupied all the attention, not least of which because this was a _new_ form. Her hair, already long, was now spiked at intervals and pooled at her feet. Her eyebrows were gone, replaced by prominent brows. Her muscles were the most clearly defined they'd ever been, and she was _floating_ a good foot off the ground.

This... was Super Nagamon 3, then.

Clustered around her feet looking equal parts annoyed and resigned were Mutsu, Atago, Takao, Iku, Hyuga, and Hosho, shrunk down to the size and look of ten-year-olds. Opposite her were Yamato, Yamashiro, Zuikaku, and Tatsuta, clutching Enterprise, Fuso, Kaga, and Tenryuu, respectively, to their chests; the latter all also looked about ten. The full-sized shipgirls were glaring daggers at Nagato, and the smaller ones weren't far behind.

And then, somehow, the situation degenerated further. _Something_ smashed through the ceiling, a tall, slender figure illuminated by a blue glow.

"- Meha."

That blue glow resolved into a pillar of energy that slammed into Nagato and sent her through the wall. Hawaii declined to go after her, instead hanging back, eyeing the hole. Everyone else took the chance to spot the newcomers.

"Hey!" Tenryuu snapped, pointing at Yuubari. "I bet this is your fault!"

"It is," Akashi said, ignoring the indignant squawk of "Hey!". "However, I have been reliably informed that this'll wear off on its own in two days."

"Then we've got a problem," Takao pointed out, jabbing her thumb at Nagato as the battleship stalked back in. "'Cause I'm pretty sure we're what's fueling the Super Nagamon 3."

"Hawaii."

No one said anything as the two combatants faced off.

"I shall give you one chance," a completely unscathed Nagato stated. "Stand down, and I won't hurt you further. I am Super Nagamon 3, and you are an ordinary shipgirl. You are no match for me."

For some reason, that just prompted Hawaii to grin. "Ordinary?" Flexing, a white aura of power rose up around her, veins bulging all over her body. "I don't think so!"

Then, in a flash of black and blue-white, Yuudachi and Inazuma appeared next to Hawaii, both wreathed in power themselves. "And did you really think she'd do this alone, poi?" the black-clad, wolf-like Nightmare of the Solomons queried.

"Of course not, nanodesu," Plasma-chan contributed, the lightning wreathing her washing out even her skin and hair to an electric white.

By now, the adult spectators were quivering in their boots. All of them had seen Dragon Ball, they knew how this scene ended, and it was in no way a good thing for bystanders. The chibified shipgirls were more proactive.

As one, they slid in front of Nagato, and turned the teary puppy-dog eyes up to maximum. "You'we scawing us, mama," they all whined in unison. The effect was immediate. Nagato fell out of the Super Nagamon 3, rushed forward - and was promptly cold-cocked by Inazuma.

"Aww..." Yuudachi and Hawaii both groaned. "We wanted to fight..."

"Tough, nanodesu."

"Still," Enterprise spoke up. "Is there seriously no way to fix this immediately? I don't wanna spend two days like this." Yamato promptly scooped up the carrier and pulled her into her chest, cooing. "See what I mean? I can't even enjoy this!"

"Yeah!" Tenryuu, Kaga, and Fuso all added from similar predicaments.

The remaining six chibified girls adding their childlike glares was just icing.

"Uhh..."

Thankfully, Yuubari was saved from answering that by the _other_ Yuubari showing up. "Seriously, making something like that without an antidote?" she said, holding up a vial filled with white candies. "You're lucky I was willing to take some time off from my other projects to make one."

"Savior!" Yuubari wailed, tackling her twin to the ground, followed shortly by a dogpile of all the chibified shipgirls. Suffice to say, it took a bit before the antidotes were passed around.


	111. Rule 2379

**Rule 2379. Painting all of the rocks in the Base with target stripes is asking for trouble so whoever painted them is to remove them and report to my office.**

For whatever reason, there were a lot of decorative rocks scattered around Taranto. Okay, the rocks were there because Colombo had ordered them placed in the midst of an unnoticed nervous breakdown. Poor man seriously needs a vacation. Anyway, the rocks had sat there undisturbed for some months before some enterprising soul had painted bullseye targets on them. And by 'enterprising soul' we mean 'fucking prankster asshole'.

KA-BOOM!

Y'see, the Italian shipgirls had taken those bullseyes as a _challenge.  
_  
"Nice shot," Vittorio Veneto remarked from behind her binoculars.

Grinning, Littorio lifted the modified 15" gun she'd used. "You think so?" she said, obviously fishing for praise.

Luckily, VV was exactly the kind of girl to give it. "Sis, you hit a chest-sized rock with your 15" gun from ten kilometers away!" she enthusiastically stated. "That's _amazing_!"

"Yes, yes, praise me more!"

More explosions rose from various corners of the base - and one of them provoked a building into collapsing. Both shipgirls winced.

"Y'know, I think this whole thing might be getting out of hand," Vittorio Veneto remarked.

"Yeah..." Littorio agreed, before hopping down the hill they were on, Vittorio Veneto following her into the base.

Well, what was left of it. Shells and torpedoes, some missing the rocks and others simply destroying their surroundings with blast and shrapnel, had damaged what seemed like _every_ building there. And collapsed more than a few. Sailors and firefighters were running around doing damage control, and in front of one of the destroyed buildings shipgirls Italian and American were kneeling on the ground in a long line getting lectured by Roma. Additional explosions were sounding out in the distance, plumes of flame and smoke rising above the base.

"Ah, good, you're back," Roma said as her sisters jogged up to the scene. "You shot that rock without doing much collateral damage - good call with the practice rounds - so I'm willing to leave you _un-_ lectured until we resolve this crisis."

"What crisis?" the two battleships chorused.

KA-BOOM!

"That crisis," Roma said as another explosion rose above the buildings. "Aquila got in a competition with a visiting Ta-class, and I think that was the last straw for poor Colombo. He grabbed some experimental weapon Provence left behind and is now trying to kill them both." Turning towards Littorio and Vittorio Veneto, Roma smirked. "Shall we go break it up?"

Her two sisters gained matching grins, and materialized their weaponry. "Let's."

~o~

Several hours later, the Abyssal was dead, Aquila was in the docks thinking over her failure, and Admiral Colombo was happily sedated in the medical ward, which meant it was now Roma on the video conference with Admiral Masson.

 _"Damn,"_ the French admiral swore, running her hands through her hair. _"And there's no timetable on when he'll return?"  
_  
"No. In fact, I have it on good authority that Admiral Colombo will likely be... retired to a seaside resort somewhere relatively soon," Roma stated. "For the moment, I am in command of Italy's shipgirls - and the Americans here." Her face twisted into a grimace. "Most of them are behaving, but Nevada is almost as trouble as the rest of the Regia Marina just on her own."

 _"Don't worry, I took the liberty of having the one shipgirl who can control her transferred over to Taranto."  
_  
Roma blinked. "Who's that?"

~o~

"Helloooooo, everyone! Iowa is here!"

Every shipgirl in Task Force 81 cheered at the sight of the might battleship. Even with a carrier task group detached from the famed Pacific fleet, that force had nothing bigger than a Baltimore. At a stroke, the allied forces in the Mediterranean had a new battleship queen.

Nevada was the only exception to the enthusiasm; sweat poured down her face as she struggled to control her breathing. Iowa had been the one to sink her, after all, and more importantly during the early days of the Abyssal War the battleship had taken a liking to bullying her. The only reason she wasn't breaking down into a gibbering fetal position right now was that this was _not_ the Iowa that had bullied her. She was far more friendly, and the small part of Nevada that hoped she would leave her alone was pushing back against that fear.

Then Iowa turned a predatory smirk on her, and the fear took over, paralyzing her.

"Hello, Nevada~," Iowa purred, slinking over to the frozen battleship. "I've heard you've been a nau~ghty girl." Leaning in close, Iowa ran a finger down Nevada's quivering neck. "A _v~ery_ naughty girl. We'll have to do something about that."

That was too much, and something snapped in Nevada. "AAAAAAAHHHHH! BAD TOUCH, BAD TOUCH! I NEED AN ADULT!"

"I am an adult," Iowa lustily growled.

Frantically looking around, her fellow Americans were studiously ignoring her, and Roma was shooting her a thumb's up. Her last option exhausted, Nevada fainted.

"Aww..." Iowa whined. "Oh well. I'll just have to bully her more later~!"


	112. Rule 2382

**Rule 2382. Using the Enterprise CV-80 Catapults to launch various objects to see how far they can go including shipgirls is forbidden. So whoever started it is to report to my office. The captain of the Enterprise also wants to have a word with you.**

USS Saipan opened the door to Admiral Briggs' office, bearing the latest budget reports - and froze, her eyes widening as she stared out the window. This did not escape Briggs' attention, and he turned a concerned look on his secretary ship.

"Saipan? What's wrong?"

Raising a quivering finger, Saipan pointed out the window, stammering "D-D-D-D-"

Frowning, Briggs turned around and looked out the window, his eyes widening just like Saipan's.

"D-D-Duck!"

Unlike Saipan, he didn't freeze up, and instead fell to the floor right as a _toilet_ smashed through his window, clearing everything off his desk before crashing into something. As papers fluttered down to the floor, Briggs cautiously poked his head up, finding the toilet smashed against the wall, Saipan's head and the upper half of her torso between the two.

"Saipan, are you okay?" Briggs shouted.

"I've been better..." the carrier groaned.

Assured that she wouldn't die anytime soon, Admiral Briggs knocked the points off the shards of glass still jutting from the broken window and poked his head out, scanning the sky. He was right in time to see a set of weights on the end of their arc pass by the building, promptly followed by a screech, a crash, a car horn, and the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal.

"Where the hell are these things coming from?" he wondered, scanning his eyes over the horizon. Buildings, buildings, the distant smudge that was Newport News, mast, buildings, mast, mast, supercarrier Enterprise, mast-

Wait a minute.

Briggs turned back to where the Enterprise was docked. Something had caught his attention...

A black dot suddenly shot from the carrier's bow, a dot that quickly resolved into a vending machine. Briggs ducked back in, and none too soon, for the vending machine smashed into the building right above his office barely two seconds later, shaking the structure and sending a rain of shattered concrete down.

"Alright, that's it!" he snapped. "I'm going over to that carrier, and make whoever's messing with the catapults o wish they'd never been born!" And with that, he stormed out of his office, right as Saipan managed to finally shove the toilet off of her face.

"Wait for me, Admiral!" she called out - right before _another_ toilet added _another_ hole in the window, and _also_ slammed into her head, embedding her in the wall. "Never mind..."

~o~

USS Power and USS Samuel B. Roberts - and before you ask, no, not that one - cheered and high-fived each other as an old, nonfunctional radar system (taken off of supply mountain and confirmed with some of the maintenance guys) managed to nail an antennae on the base before landing on and smashing through the roof below.

"Nice shot!" Sammy B. crowed.

"Thank you, thank you!" Power declared, bowing.

Oddly, there was no clapping from their audience of sailors. In fact, when the two destroyers turned to complain about that, said audience was gone entirely. The duo blinked owlishly.

"Like, where'd everyone go?" Power wondered.

"I've got a bad feeling about this..." Samuel B. Roberts muttered, shivering.

"Good instincts."

The twin destroyers whirled around to find Admiral Briggs examining the sled they'd used to actually launch things from the catapult, a palpable aura of menace rising above him.

"I'll think of a suitable punishment for this stunt at a later date. In the meantime..." He turned towards them, and it was all the two could do to not wet themselves. He cracked his knuckles. "Prepare yourselves."

~o~

Thousands of miles away, Fubuki looked up. She could've sworn she'd heard a cry of some kind, a cry that was swiftly silenced. Two destroyers were in trouble.

"Eh, they probably deserved it," she shrugged, going back to her work.


	113. Rule 2383

**Rule 2383. OK, people it's time for all ship girls and some navy personnel to be reminded that we'll be conducting a bi-annual budget review starting sometime this year. As such we'll be having mandatory Financial classes to help with your taxes and how to save and use money wisely. We're doing this because we don't want our budget getting cut by our government thinking how wasteful we are with our money what with all of the shenanigans you get up to. Paying for those damages aren't cheap.**

"And this will be your workspace," Fubuki said, opening the door.

Inazuma walked in and grimaced; the room was basically a concrete box with a desk and a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"Yeah, sorry about the Soviet concrete box," Fubuki apologized. "We're... not exactly overflowing with pleasant workspaces these days."

"It's fine, I can redecorate, nanodesu," Inazuma sighed. "So. What do we start with?"

Fubuki snapped her fingers, and someone - probably an intern - wheeled in a cart stacked high with papers. "This is all the financial data we have for the last year," she stated. "And in something I will freely admit we should have done ages ago, we'll need you to audit every single one of our expenditures. And then see if you can find savings anywhere."

Inazuma eyed the documents, then poked her head out the door where three more carts were parked. She glared at Fubuki, who promptly looked away.

"Oh, this is gonna _suck_ , nanodesu..." she groaned.

~o~

 _Three days later  
_  
Tenryuu knocked at the door to Inazuma's office, hoping that the destroyer would answer.

"Come in."

Well, that was a relief, despite the tired resignation in Inazuma's voice. Opening the door, Tenryuu mentally winced at Inazuma blocking the light with her hand, not to mention the soul-sucking barrenness of the office, or the colossal stacks of paper, or that the hand being held up was right over her mouse and quivering.

"Hey," she said. "How goes the boulder-rolling?"

"Could be worse," Inazuma said, lowering her hand to reveal haggard eyes tinged with black bags. "I finished tabulating everything, so I can-"

"Take a break while we go get the stuff you need to redecorate this place," Tenryuu cut in, eyeing the single bulb in the ceiling. "Especially some floor lamps, because dear God this place could use some more light."

"Can't," Inazuma grunted. "Now I've got to see what we can cut, and start emailing people about what the _fuck_ they're-!"

CLONK!

"Hawawawawa!" Inazuma moaned as she clutched her head, where Tenryuu had just chopped her.

"Language, young lady!" the light cruiser stated. "Besides, the base has gotten this far without blowing up. We'll go get ice cream, do some shopping, and you can tell me what people have been spending the base's money on!"

~o~

"Caviar?!"

Tenryuu gaped openly at Inazuma, who was cradling her head in her hands.

"Yes!" she wailed. "100% authentic Russian caviar, flown in via private jet with the most advanced refrigeration tech in the world! And that's just the tip of the iceberg, nanodesu! No, that's not enough. It's as if someone planted a flag on Mauna Kea, and _the caviar is the flag!"  
_  
"Jesus..." Tenryuu muttered around a mouthful of ice cream. "Well, look on the bright side: you can take all the schadenfreudic glee you want in busting their asses. I hope I pronounced that right..."

Amazingly, that did perk up Inazuma, and she went back to attacking her ice cream. "You're right, nanodesu. But even if I slam all the obvious stuff and cut it out, that still just means we don't have to ask for a budget increase this year," she continued. "Ideally, I want to free up more money for operations and repairs and things that'll actually let us _fight,_ nanodesu, and without having to beg the Diet for more money. Getting the less obvious pork excised will help, but probably not enough." Sighing, Inazuma upended her ice cream and chugged down the melted stuff at the bottom. "I just don't know what to do, nanodesu." So saying, she leaned her head back over the back of her chair.

"Have you considered cutting our pay?"

And then she lifted it up just enough to stare incredulously at Tenryuu.

"What?"

"I'm serious, our salaries are kind of ridiculous," the light cruiser blithely continued. "Most of the destroyers' pay goes into a trust fund anyway, and the rest of us... well, the sensible ones of us do the same. There's only a relatively small number of shipgirls here that blow their pay immediately, and I have an idea for that."

Sitting back up again, Inazuma mulled over the idea. Shipgirl pay was a significant part of the budget... "You really think they'll go for this?"

"There'll be grumbling, but if you frame it right no one'll complain outright," Tenryuu said. "Well, no one with any money sense. For the rest, you just need to teach them how to manage it better."

"A financial class, huh..." Inazuma muttered. She stayed deep in thought before her old flotilla leader snapped her fingers.

"C'mon, you can think about that later," she said, grabbing the destroyer's arm. "We've got stuff to buy!"

"H-Hey, wait, nanodesu! I can walk by myself!"

~o~

Admiral Goto hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed over Inazuma's report. Fubuki and Ooyodo had their own copies, and had been tasked with tackling other sections. And a good thing, too: the report was incredibly dense, summaries or no summaries. And from the angry noises coming from Ooyodo's direction, he had gotten the positive part.

"Alright," he said, putting the report down. "Summarize this for me, as best you can."

"Essentially, sir, we have a lot of waste we need to tackle," Inazuma said. "Some flagrant-"

"Tiger penises!" Ooyodo snapped, throwing her hands up in the air.

"And some not, nanodesu. I'll need your authority to tackle all of that. In a bit of good news and bad news, though, even cutting all this waste won't get us much of a surplus to reinvest elsewhere, nanodesu. I put in a recommendation to resolve that-"

"I saw your proposal to cut shipgirl pay, Lieutenant," Fubuki cut in, Inazuma wincing at the invocation of rank. "And I agree that it's a good one."

"Really," Goto stated, raising an eyebrow.

"Frame it as something that can finish off our summonings and increase our operational tempo?" replied Fubuki. "Most of us invest most of our paychecks anyway. Those of us who don't... well, Inazuma's volunteered to run some financial planning classes that should let them use their new income better."

"I recommend it for some of our human personnel as well," Ooyodo added through gritted teeth. "Some of the things I'm seeing... God!"

Turning over his thoughts one last time, Goto nodded. "I'll need to review this in depth, but unofficially I recommend you get the classes set up and those officers known to the MPs. Unless I find something egregiously wrong I'm going to approve your recommendations."

"Aye, sir!"

~o~

Ooi glanced around the auditorium she was in. The room was packed with shipgirls and sailors alike. Kasagi over there, Mogami up a few rows, Ise and Hyuga paired up. Some of the most vocal protestors against Inazuma's pay cuts.

Ooi's fist clenched at the thought of the destroyer. Ten percent! Ten percent! How could she capture Kitakami's heart with so little?! The only reason she hadn't done anything was that Inazuma had promised a way to make that money stretch longer. The _only_ reason. Oh, and there was the destroyer now! Oh, she looked... mad? And scary? What?

"Alright, maggots!" Inazuma barked, lightning crashing outside and making everyone jump. "I'm here to pound some basic financial literacy into your heads so you can blow your paychecks more efficiently, and thus not use _military resources_ to satisfy your damn vices!"

"But I can manage my money!" a voice from the crowd shouted.

"If you could do it properly, you wouldn't be here!" Inazuma snapped, accompanied by another crash of thunder from outside.

Ooi felt her pulse quicken, her breath coming in heady pants. She was no Kitakami, but... well. Ooi felt she could learn to love this destroyer. Up on stage, meanwhile, Inazuma shivered for no apparent reason, before pressing on. She had a job to do, after all, and after this she could look into proper streamlining of the budget.


	114. Rule 2384

**Rule 2384: To all Shipgirls, stop freaking out when one of your human friends get hurt.  
**  
Inazuma sighed in contentment as she rested her head against her boyfriend Kenta's chest. The two were sitting under a tree off-base, just relaxing so Inazuma could recharge her batteries and rest her wrist after a frantic last few weeks. Kenta, for his part, was blushing like mad and fighting the urge to stroke his girlfriend's hair; considering she was sitting in his lap and resting her head against his chest, it was a losing battle. He reached out, stroked through her brown locks, and was rewarded by a contented hum and Inazuma pushing her head further against his chest.

The two remained like this for several minutes before Kenta's leg, which was starting to fall asleep, forced him to shift into a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, with Inazuma's weight that ended up bringing his thigh down on the jagged stump of a branch that had once been growing from the roots they were sitting on. "Yow!" he yelped as the wood poked into and through his skin.

Of course, the sudden shift and his pained yelp caught Inazuma's attention, and she did the sensible thing: she shrieked, jumped to her feet, slung Kenta over her shoulder, and began sprinting away.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" he yelped.

"I'm getting you to a medic!" Inazuma screamed. "You're hurt! You're bleeding!"

"I'll be fine with a band-aid!"

Inazuma didn't listen, charging down to the naval base and through the gates - and then right over Kiso's outstretched foot. Inazuma was sent sprawling, her face skidding on the concrete, while Kenta went up and in the same direction. Or would have, had Kiso not caught him and gently placed him down.

"You alright, kid?" she asked.

"Uh, y-yeah," he said.

The cruiser nodded, and rummaged around in her pocket for something. "Here," she said, pulling out and handing over a circular band-aid.

"T-Thanks," Kenta stammered, glancing at Inazuma, who was still face-down in the concrete. "Uh, is she all right?" As he asked, he unwrapped the bandage and began affixing it to his leg.

"She's fine," Kiso answered dismissively. "It's the only way to break shipgirls out of this sort of fugue."

Kenta didn't know what a 'fugue' was, but he could guess. "You mean how she panicked when I got hurt?"

"Yup," Kiso nodded. "We shipgirls have rather skewed ideas of what counts as seriously hurt. I've personally had limbs blown off, holes blown through my torso, and even lost some of my head at one point. Between that and command rightfully drilling into our heads how fragile normal humans are... well, like I said. Skewed ideas."

Kenta opened his mouth to say something to that, and was promptly bowled over by Inazuma before he could. "You're alright, you're fine, you're not gonna die, nanodesu?!" she wailed.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine!"

Smirking and shaking her head, Kiso left the two lovebirds and was just about to resume her trek to the nearest convenience store when she heard the sounds of a wall being demolished.

"Oh, what now?!" she snapped, absently noting that Inazuma had done the same.

"Haruna, put me down this instant!" they heard a female voice shout from inside the base, followed by another crash.

"No! You're not alright! You need a doctor!" came Haruna's reply.

 _"I have a papercut!"  
_  
Kiso sighed, running her hand down her face. "Yo, Plasma-chan, y'wanna help me out?"

"Plasma-chan?" Inazuma repeated, one eyebrow raised. Still, she hummed thoughtfully, clearly thinking over the proposal. "You know what? I could stand to blow off some steam." Lightning wreathed the destroyer as she turned to Kenta. "Stay here, please."

"Okay. Have fun!" the boy said, waving her off.


	115. Rule 2387

**Rule 2387. Nagato, please do not attempt to cuddle with** ** _any_** **of the** ** _Treasury-_** **Class cutters. They may be small and cute as a button (daresay, even** ** _cuter_** **than the fiv-four moeblobs of DesDivSix combined), but they can pack a punch. Or baton and pepper spray in this situation...  
**  
It was a tense battleship that made her way through San Diego, and past literally dozens of destroyers. After what was rapidly making the rounds as "The Loli Pill" incident, Nagato had reaffirmed her desire to _control_ her Nagamon tendencies. Which meant getting away from Yokosuka for a bit. Familiarity had made her bold, or at least, that was the idea.

It helped that San Diego was staffed largely by Sumner and Fletcher-class destroyers, who tended to look older than their Japanese counterparts. Not by much in some cases, but older, and every bit helped.

"You find the problem yet?"

"Yeah, I got it. Wrench..."

The voices she heard drifting from out of a side room, though... blood dripped from where her teeth had bit into her lip, flickers of yellow flame briefly bursting to life around her. Finally, the feeling fell, and she felt safe to poke her head into the room. Her eyes widened at the sight.

The two girls inside were not destroyers. They were built wrong, for stability rather than speed. And their rigging was mostly unfamiliar, aside from a few prominent 5"/38 singles. What they were, though, was small and utterly adorable. And though Nagato could shove down the worst reaction, the sight still unleashed the Nagamon.

Slowly, she crept through the door...

~o~

Taney grimaced as Spencer poked something sensitive in her weather antenna. Of all the times for it to break! At least Spencer knew what she was doing and could save her a trip to see Medusa.

With Spencer focused on the repair job, it was Taney who noticed the door open, and Nagato poke her head in. She promptly dismissed that, expecting the Japanese battleship to leave in a few seconds.

"And... done!" Spencer announced, closing up the dome to her antenna. "How's it looking?"

Taney closed her eyes, taking in weather information. Her old systems had never been capable of what she was capable of now in one of the clearest cases of Sparkly Magical Shipgirl Bullshit ever recorded. For instance...

"We're-" she began, opening her eyes, only to recoil back at the sight of Nagato's drooling, blushing face inches from her own. "Whoa!"

"Cuuuuute..." Nagato moaned, leaning in even closer. "Cu- ACK!"

Taney waved her hand in front of her face, trying to get rid of the pepper spray fumes that had blown back into her face. "Careful!" she snapped at Spencer.

"Sorry, reflex," the other cutter said as she loomed over Nagato. The battleship had been reduced to lying on the ground, clutching her face and moaning in agony. "So, what do we do with her?"

"Eh, just let her go," Taney stated. "This should be a good lesson for her."


	116. Rule 2388

**Rule 2388: Do not use destroyers as weight lifting weights.**

One of the unique features of the naval base at Toulon was an indoor shooting range, and not a normal one. In this range, in addition to shooting at targets, targets shot at _you_. With paintballs, of course, and a system to identify when you would go down based on the expected damage.

It was in this range that Jean Bart was in, dodging around the whizzing paintballs that represented Abyssal 16" shells, her 12" guns returning fire at the targets. It should be noted that this was _not_ the Richelieu-class fast battleship Jean Bart in there. No, it was the Courbet-class dreadnought battleship Jean Bart, one of the oldest shipgirls not only in France, but in the world. And unlike her sisters Courbet and Paris, she hadn't taken her thorough obsolescence sitting down.

She'd also sortied exactly _once_ in the early days when Toulon was threatened and had lasted long enough to block a 16" shell heading for Lorraine with her face, and no times since, but details. She'd be on the front lines any day now!

That moment of bliss was enough distraction for a paintball to hit her dead center in the chest. "Simulation over," the computer intoned, the targets and their guns withdrawing.

"What?! Hey! This can't be over, I only took one hit!" Jean Bart protested.

"That one hit is enough."

Glaring, Jean Bart whirled around to jab an accusatory finger at... Jean Bart. "Don't you start! It's this stupid computer, maligning the good name of my armor!"

"Oh, whine whine whine," Jean Bart said, rolling her eyes. Normally, the fast battleship wasn't the type to throw out biting commentary; that was her big sister's job. But the older Jean Bart just rubbed her the wrong way, which had the effect of bringing out her inner savage. "Yeah, there was once a time when you could've taken a hit like that and kept trucking, but face facts! Naval technology has moved on! Your fire control compares unfavorably to a blind monkey with Tourette's, your armor is vulnerable to _cruisers_ , your speed is way too low to compensate for the rest of your suckage, and even _Arkansas_ laughs at your main battery."

Through the short rant Jean Bart's temper had been rising, and once the other Frenchwoman finished she expressed her displeasure with shouting and a concrete-breaking stomp. "Shows what you know! My strength and spirit haven't aged a bit!" Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers, destroyers Tartu and Kersaint popping up out of nowhere. "Alright, girls, do the thing!"

Nodding, Tartu pulled out a long metal pole, and despite herself Jean Bart found herself wondering curiously what was going to happen next. She was not disappointed, as both shipgirls curled into balls, Jean Bart moving the rod into the small space created by their legs, chest, and arms.

"Check this! Five thousand tons of destroyer barbell!" the Courbet stated, squatting and grabbing the bar. Jean Bart's eyes widened, and she moved to stop the other battleship.

"Jean Bart, stop!"

Too late. The older battleship yanked up, straining and groaning - and then with a wet pop, both her arms dislocated themselves. For a moment, no one moved.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

And then the screaming started.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

"Ugh..." Jean Bart groaned. "What I wouldn't give for a repair ship right now..."


	117. Rule 2395

**Rule 2395. Everyone is reminded to not stick your used gum under the table. Any violators of this rule will be put on scraping duty.**

Chewing gum had been one of the very first things the US Navy's shipgirls had started buying when they were summoned. All remembered their stores selling it and their sailors chewing it - and everyone of destroyer tonnage or greater remembered said sailors sticking their gum all over their hulls, only to be chewed out by their bosuns and set to scraping it off. So they came already trained to wrap up their gum and properly throw it away. San Diego and Bremerton were thus mostly pristine when it came to gum stains on the ground and under tables.

Norfolk was not so lucky. Destroyer escorts had never learned this, and nor had the old 4-pipers which between the two types made up the majority of Norfolk's shipgirls. Worse, unlike the other two bases, there weren't enough larger shipgirls to instill the lesson with any kind of consistency, with the result that gum was a serious problem, and its cleanup a popular punishment.

Of course, these being shipgirls, there was always _someone_ who took a manageable situation to ludicrous levels...

"This is disgusting," Saipan gagged as she stared at one of the mess hall's tables. The furniture looked like a few tribes of wasps had set up shop underneath, except the cone-shaped masses were made of pink gum rather than wax. "How did no one notice this before it got this bad?"

"Oh, they noticed," Mission Bay said as she attacked the worst of the mass with a cutting torch. "But, y'know, DEs. They didn't care, and nobody heavier happened to sit at that table, so here we are."

Saipan grimaced. That made far too much sense. "At least the sidewalk gum is under control..."

"You mean contained," the escort carrier shot back. "The minute more DEs or 4-pipers start dropping gum, or we stop catching enough of 'em for scraping duties, we're going to start seeing more gum than concrete." Putting down her torch, Mission Bay grabbed the mass of gum and, wiggling it back and forth, yanked it loose, glaring at the half-inch layer still left behind. "Great, this is going to be impossible to get off without wrecking the table..."

You could almost hear the 'Ding!' and see the lightbulb at the sudden realization Saipan had.

"I've got it!" she crowed. "You keep working, Mission Bay, I need to go talk to Admiral Briggs!"

"O-" the escort carrier began, right as Saipan sprinted out of the room. "Kay?" She eyed the dozen-odd tables that she still had to tackle. "I'll just... be here, then."

~o~

Saipan grinned as she looked out at the sea of young faces before her. Perfect. This plan would solve the gum problem, forever! Stepping up to the podium, she tapped the mic to grab their attention - and nearly screamed as feedback roared out of the speakers like a Metallica solo out of Satan's asshole. Luckily, it lasted a bare few seconds before the sound tech standing by - and they _always_ had one standing by these days - adjusted things.

"Sorry about that," the light carrier announced, rubbing her ears. "Anyway, thank you for taking time from your... busy schedules to come here."

 _That_ was a bald-faced lie. For all that the Atlantic gap's ASW was a priority, Norfolk had _so many_ escorts that most DEs and 4-pipers ended up with a lot of free time between training and sorties. A _lot_ of free time, especially the 4-pipers.

"Command has decided to put forth a new policy, one that should be showing up on The List soon enough," Saipan continued.

 _That_ shut up the amused titters. Anything that merited being on The List was Serious Business.

"And that policy is this: the next time we catch someone disposing of gum by sticking it on the nearest surface?" She smirked. " _All_ of you get a week of gum-scraping duty."

She braced, expecting an explosion, and was thus thoroughly confused when the gathered shipgirls simply stared at her. And stared. And stared. Finally, USS Walker stood, and Saipan mentally groaned. Walker, one of hundreds of 4-pipers, was an anomaly that had the science teams tearing their hair out. She'd not appeared in a summoning circle, but in the Philippine Sea. She'd been scrapped three years before Nazi soldiers goose-stepped into Poland, let alone Pearl Harbor. And, of course, none of that explained how she'd ended up the most badass of the 4-pipers and their de-facto leader, with a heaping helping of odd modifications.

This would be trouble.

"Girls," Walker announced, pointing at Saipan and grinning evilly. "Get her."

As one, the assembled destroyers and destroyer escorts charged the stage, roaring in righteous anger. Saipan had only a second to react before they dogpiled her, and she failed to do more than squeak in terror.

Walker, meanwhile, just sat back and pulled out a stick of gum, popping it in her mouth and chewing. Within minutes, her fellow escorts were carrying a tied-up and gagged Saipan over to her, and Walker caught her eye, very deliberately popping the gum out of her mouth and sticking it to the back of the chair in front of her.

Saipan's wordless scream of outrage was _very_ satisfying.


	118. Rule 2401

**Rule 2401. Listen to Wreck's podcast at your own peril.**

Wreck scanned over her setup one last time. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. Microphone, check. Soundproofing, still good. Her computer was all set to record and broadcast her voice to all the people listening in on her first podcast. And... oh my that was a lot of people. Wreck shoved down a rare pang of nervousness and took a deep breath. One last check; she glanced at the chat sitting next to her recording program. Plenty of responses there.

Excellent. Time to start.

[Good evening, everybody,] Wreck said into the mic. Her voice, of course, was still had that cheerful, high-pitched grinding gravel quality that was just yet another thing that separated her and her fellow Re-class from other Abyssals, who all had much smoother voices. Still, very few people minded when it was her speaking. [Now, I know I've been fairly mum on the structure of this podcast. That's deliberate, and it's ending right now. We're going to be doing this the way old Daddy Longlegs did it - that's Franklin Roosevelt for those of you who aren't complete history nerds - with fireside chats. Well.] Wreck's grin widened. [Not many firesides these days, I suppose. Now, where to start...]

Memories flashed through her mind, of a slip on the Chesapeake Bay, watching the ships and the mud. [Well. I suppose I should give you a straight answer about why you should vote for me,] she said, a bit of melancholy softening her voice. [I'll admit, I've been avoiding that with the usual politician bullshit. There's a story behind those reasons, and it's... painful. And personal.]

Sighing, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth, only to click it shut and reconsider. [Well, no one says I can't go with the short version. Let's start with the fact that I am, in spirit, USS Kentucky, an Iowa class battleship. Or, at least, I was supposed to be.] Her expression darkened and her voice dropped a half octave. [Or I would've been, if they hadn't cancelled me. But that's not the worst part, oh no.]

~o~

Lieutenant Commander Tachibana Reika, best friend to the battleship Haruna (and no more than that, no matter _what_ base gossip said), felt a righteous fury burn in her as she listened to Wreck summarize the unjust treatment she'd gone through as USS Kentucky.

 _[... and then Wisconsin did a derp and ran into a destroyer, damaging her bow,]_ the podcast informed her. _[And y'know what the Navy thought would be a great idea? Cut off_ my _damn bow and give it to her!]  
_  
Reika gasped in entirely genuine outrage. Those monsters!

 _[I mean, yeah, I get it, I was just sitting there doing nothing, but for fuck's sake couldn't they have figured out some other way to repair her? Come_ _the fuck_ on _, people! I still can't even look at a picture of that weeb without feeling the urge to break something!]  
_  
"Haruna, have you been listening to this?!" she demanded, swinging to face her friend. "This is-!"

Reika promptly froze at the sight of Haruna. The battleship was slumped bonelessly in her chair, bleeding from every orifice on her face. For a second, Reika held that pose, before scrambling out of her chair and out the door.

"Medic!"

~o~

[And that's why you should vote for me!] Wreck roared, now standing with mic in hand. [Because I know, personally, what it's like to get screwed over by the government, and I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure none of you do!]

From the explosion of comments in the chat and the football emoticons flying back and forth, that had gone over well. A satisfied smirk on her face, Wreck sat down again, basking in the response. That satisfaction was soon tempered as she noticed a number of angry and panicked comments - and they _weren't_ about the content of her chat.

[Well, listeners, it appears something's going on,] she said. [If you could slow down the chat a tad, that'd be wonderful.] To her satisfaction, the chat immediately slowed down, allowing her to actually read the messages. And what she read was bad. Very bad.

[Ah, I'm sorry, but it looks like I'll have to cut this short,] she reported, pulling up her windows to shut everything down. [Emergency travel sort of thing, you understand. I'll pick this up again next week, time permitting.] And with that, she cut the podcast short, cut her programs, and stood.

She had a trip to San Diego to make.

~o~

[And they were all listening to my podcast,] Wreck stated as she examined the shipgirls laid out in the docks. All were unconscious and bandaged up around their heads, spots of red soaking through the gauze.

"As far as we can tell, yes," Medusa confirmed. "Bremerton, Norfolk, and Yokosuka all reported the same effects."

That last location provoked a raised eyebrow from Wreck. [Yokosuka?]

"Yes," Medusa answered, a smile tugging at her lips. "Haruna happened to be listening, and, well..." The repair ship rummaged in her pocket and handed over a printed photo. "Take a look for yourself."

At the sight of the photo, Wreck snickered. Haruna's face had been thoroughly - and apparently accidentally - bandaged to give her the appearance of Shishio Makoto. [Okay, that's pretty funny,] she admitted, handing back the photo. [But seriously, what caused this?]

"You don't know?" Medusa asked, surprised.

[If I did, I wouldn't be asking,] Wreck deadpanned. [But if you've got no idea-]

"I don't."

[Then I'm afraid we're just going to have to call it Spooky Abyssal Mindfuckery and call it a day,] Wreck said, throwing up her hands. [Probably with a side order of List Entry.]


	119. Rule 2404

**Rule 2404. Causing a psychotic breakdown is not something to be proud of.**

Roma shifted slightly as the door to the Admiral's office opened. Today was the day Taranto was to get a new Admiral, after all, and she wanted to make the best first impression she could. It was only this control that stopped her from twitching at the sight of Admiral Laurito. He wasn't ugly or anything, or scary, or really a threat at all. On the surface, at least, he looked perfectly normal. But something was tripping off alarm bells in the battleship's head. Something about the trim of his blonde beard, or the styling of the frames of his glasses, or his eyes. _Something_ she couldn't put into words.

Two seconds after meeting the guy and Roma already knew she'd be keeping one eye on Admiral Laurito.

"Welcome to Taranto, Admiral Laurito," Roma said, showing none of her unease as she offered her hand forward.

"Glad to be here," the new Admiral said. At least nothing about the handshake rang alarm bells. "How are you holding up? This job drove Admiral Colombo into early retirement, after all."

"I'm managing, sir," Roma sighed, slumping slightly. "And it's easier now that the Americans have gotten Nevada to behave."

Something dark flitted across Admiral Laurito's face, something Roma almost swore she'd imagined. "I see," he said placidly. "Well, while I won't give anything away, I will be ensuring that discipline is kept better than when Admiral Colombo was in charge."

Again, Roma shivered at the words, every instinct screaming. Outwardly, none of this showed. "Good luck, sir," she said, meaning it.

"Thank you, but I won't need," Admiral Laurito stated. "You're dismissed, and I've given you a few days' leave."

"Thank you, sir." With that, Roma left, pulling out her cell phone the instant she was out the door. If her suspicions were correct, she'd need to have something set up for when she got back from leave.

~o~

Leave was just the _best!_

Roma sighed contentedly as she walked back up to Taranto; that three-day break had been just what the doctor ordered, spent traipsing up and down the Amalfi coast. Being able to walk on water was just _so_ convenient for getting to all those little hidden beaches. She hadn't even needed a swimsuit!

Once she stepped inside the base, though, her good mood evaporated. A palpable aura of despair hung over the buildings, aided along by the sight of Bartolomeo Colleoni slumped against a wall, gaunt, haggard, and ragged. Over her stood Ranger, looking in somewhat better condition.

"What the hell happened?" Roma demanded as she jogged up to the scene.

"To borrow a Japanese term, a Kuso Teitoku happened," Ranger growled.

Roma ran a quick mental translation of the term. 'Teitoku' was admiral, of course, while Kuso was a swear word. Not a good combination. "Explain," Roma stated frostily.

Ranger sighed, and told her tale. A tale of a quack doctor who just so happened to be the new Admiral's cousin and between jobs, of 'healthy' food replacing the rich, calorie-dense meals of before, of some girls undergoing a _dozen_ sorties over the last three days, and limited dock time. By the time it was over, Roma had a feeling she knew how the Romans felt about Carthage.

"I'm assuming you've told your superiors back in the United States?" she asked.

"'Course we did," Ranger scoffed. "But we're technically in the Italian chain of command, so someone Italian has to call kick it into the NATO structure, and the Italian shipgirls are too exhausted to do it themselves."

"Easy enough to fix," Roma growled, stalking into the base.

~o~

Admiral Laurito nodded happily as he looked over the kill counts his shipgirls were getting. As he'd suspected: up the tempo and get them eating properly, and the shipgirl force would be much more efficient. He frowned as he reached the bottom; things were dropping off. He made a mental to squeeze rations and get the damaged girls out of dock.

A knock at his door brought him out of his thoughts, and he called out "Come in!" Roma stomped through a second later, clearly quite angry.

"How can I help you?" he asked, turning on the charm.

Said charm completely failed to faze the battleship. Laurito felt a twinge of fear, but shoved it back down.

"I understand you're upset-" he began.

"You understand nothing," Roma stated in a voice that would have given a yeti instant frostbite. "Do not let my calm demeanor fool you, _admiral._ I am quite furious at your stupidity."

For the first time since she'd met the man, Roma was treated to a genuine, open reaction: he flushed in open-mouthed embarrassment and anger. "Stupidity?!" he demanded.

"Yes. Stupidity," Roma bluntly replied. "Besides the crass corruption of your appointment of our new fleet doctor, neither of you seem to realize how many calories it takes to fuel a shipgirl's body. Nor that we don't suffer from diabetes or weight gain or any other human dietary problem of that nature. Between that and the pace you're putting them through, your Italian shipgirls are dropping from exhaustion." Her stance softened somewhat. "And yet, you may still avert the doom that approaches you. Apologize. Mend your ways. Be the good Admiral you can be."

"Damn slackers!" Laurito snarled instead. "Tools do what they're told, no matter their-!"

"You're an even bigger fool than I thought," Roma interrupted with an air of faint amazement. "Were you a workman who treated his tools the same way you've been treating your shipgirls, I would think you an incompetent. Your doom approaches, Admiral Laurito, with every word that spills from your mouth."

With an effort of will and quite a bit of enamel ground off his teeth, Admiral Laurito reigned himself in, a smarmy smirk playing over his features. "Oh, I don't think so," he said. "I've been quite careful to have friends in _very_ high places. I think you'll find that it will be very difficult to remove me."

"Have a care, Laurito," Roma stated. "The doom is at the door now. It is lifting the latch."

Barking a hyena like laugh, the Admiral waved Roma away. "Get out of my office. I'll decide my punishment for you later."

Still glaring at the man, Roma spun on her heel and left. Much like before, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number.

"Whatever you have planned, begin it now," she said.

 _"Roger."_

~o~

KA-BOOM!

Roma's eye twitched as another section of the naval base went up in flames. "By 'remove him', I meant 'get him sacked somehow', not 'torture him into a psychotic break'!" she snapped.

"Aheheheh... sorry," Hornet, CV-12, chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. "But hey, it worked, right? Even his political backers couldn't keep him in place after going on a bombing spree ranting about killer mutant space voles!"

KA-BOOM!

"Yes, it worked," Roma admitted through gritted teeth. "It's also _destroying our base!"  
_  
"Hey, how was I supposed to know the guy was an explosives expert?!"

"ROMA!"

Carrier and battleship blinked as Admiral Laurito staggered up to them, clothes tattered, beard singed, and eyes wild. Wrapped around him was a vest full of dynamite.

"I know you're behind this!" the man screeched, jabbing a quivering finger Roma's way. "I will kill you, and everything will-!"

THWACK!

"Sorry, but he was building up to a rant and I'd rather not hear that," Hornet said, tossing a spare rock up and down.

Roma kept staring at the unconscious ex-Admiral, now sporting a nasty welt on his forehead, before sighing. "It's fine..."

"And hey, look on the bright side!" Hornet added cheerfully. "Now I can add 'Induced a psychotic break' to my list of accomplishments!"

WHAM!

"THAT'S NOT SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!" Roma snapped at the downed carrier, smoke rising from her fist.


	120. Rule 2406

**Rule 2406. To the one that keeps saying that Carriers have never sunk a ship, they don't find it funny and they are looking for you.**

Graf Zeppelin sipped at her coffee, going over a manual on torpedo bomber attacks. The possibility of swapping out her dive bombers for torpedo bombers had come up during the last fleet meeting, and with how many torpedo bombers were capable of level bombing as well she felt it a good idea to build her skills in preparation for a petition to make the change to her airgroup.

As she sat down for breakfast, conversation wafted over to her from the Scharnhorst sisters, and as usual Gneisenau sounded exasperated and Scharnhorst cheerfully enthusiastic. The carrier listened with half an ear; Scharnhorst's ramblings were usually good for a few chuckles.

"- should really strike _all_ their ship kills. I mean, seriously, how hard is it to launch a plane?"

Then again, she could also be a colossal pain in the ass.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Scharnhorst was talking about. And while Graf, not having actually served as a carrier before being summoned as a shipgirl, didn't have a horse in that particular race, she knew plenty of carrier girls who _would_. This would be the perfect payback for all the times the battleship had been a righteous pain in the ass to her, generally and specifically.

"I'm sorry," she spoke up, idly switching her phone to video recording. _"Who_ should have their ship kills struck?"

"Uh..." Honestly, the sudden panic on Scharnhorst's face was almost enough for Graf to end her plan satisfied. Almost. "The carriers?"

"Thought so," Graf nodded, sitting back down. "Carry on. I honestly don't mind." That done, she thumbed the video off.

Scharnhorst looked relieved, and quickly returned to her conversation, but the look Gneisenau sent the carrier's way indicated that she knew exactly what was going on. Graf made a mental note to be careful about posting the ticking bomb she now had stashed on her phone.

~o~

Three days later, Scharnhorst was sitting in her room when someone knocked at the door. "Coming~!" she sang, walking up to it. "How can I help-"

Her cheerful demeanor evaporated like water on a hot fire when she saw who was standing there: HMS Glorious and USS White Plains, both with closed eyes and ear-to-ear grins. Glorious held up her phone, a short looped video playing, and Scharnhorst felt the blood in her face de-ass the area with all possible speed as her voice spoke out of it.

"Is this you?" Glorious asked.

Quickly, Scharnhorst ran through her options. Running was out unless she went through a wall, and while she could take Glorious on her own, White Plains was another story. There was only one thing to do: make like a politician and deny, deny, deny!

"Pff, of course, it's not me," Scharnhorst flippantly replied.

"She's lying," White Plains immediately stated.

Gulping, Scharnhorst braced for combat as Glorious stepped forward, cracking her knuckles and still with that _damn smile_ on her face. "Excellent. Then let me say this." The smile vanished, and the German battleship found herself wishing for it back. Especially when her legs were knocked out from her, letting the carrier loom ominously over her. "Hey. Heard you were talking shit. Like I wouldn't find out."

Scharnhorst did the only thing she could: she screamed. And she kept screaming throughout the beating the two carries laid into her.


	121. Rule 2408

**Rule 2408. Hibiki is now the temporary Post-World War II history teacher until Wisconsin gets back.  
**  
One thing the whole mess with Aso had driven home to... well, everyone except the US Navy and Royal Navy (who had enough shipgirls to see postwar service to skate by) was that _someone_ needed to teach postwar history, lest more such headaches be created. Bolzano's innocent yet inflammatory question about what happened to Yugoslavia while deployed off Croatia merely accelerated things. Which created the obvious problem of _who_ was going to teach these classes. The French and Italians just hired a few recent graduates from their universities' teaching programs, while the Germans just requested British ships as needed.

Japan had tried the teacher idea. That... hadn't gone well. Hell, it had gone so bad that the Education Ministry had ordered wholesale reform of the country's public school history education and the training of teachers for it, and was sending quite a few stern looks the way of the private schools. Instead, they had gone with the American shipgirls that frequently rotated through. Whether they were carriers, cruisers, destroyers, or battleships, most of the Third Fleet's shipgirls knew quite a bit of postwar history, though for obvious reasons the Iowas, Midways, and those Essexes that had been museums were especially coveted.

All of which brings us to the reason why Ooyodo was currently swearing.

Fubuki, Inazuma, and Admiral Goto, who were all going over some budgeting forms Captain Yonehara had dropped off, all looked up in concern. "What is it?" Fubuki asked.

"Wisconsin has been officially deployed to, and I quote, 'Procure cultural artifacts'," the cruiser snarled.

The three other officers blinked. "Please tell me that that's _not_ code for 'buy all the anime merchandise in Akiba you can', nanodesu," Inazuma deadpanned.

"Well, I don't like lying, so sorry, can't do that."

"Flargen!" Inazuma... swore?

"What's up with that?" Admiral Goto whispered to Fubuki as his other destroyer officer descended into pure gibberish.

"Tenryuu got in the habit of making up nonsense words to swear with when she got assigned Desdiv 6," the destroyer answered. "I think Inazuma now believes they're the foulest swear words in the Japanese language."

Filling that away, Goto cleared his throat. "In any case, since Wisconsin is presumably going to be unavailable for teaching for the foreseeable future, who should we have fill the role for tomorrow's lesson?"

"Well, we basically only have Hibiki and Yukikaze available," Ooyodo immediately answered. "And of the two, I'd go with Hibiki."

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea, nanodesu. What about Enterprise?"

"With Yamato sortied, we'd be lucky to get her out of the house without Yoshino in tow," Fubuki replied. "I agree with the choice of Hibiki; I feel she'd be better able to manage a class."

"But-!"

"Your concern is noted and overruled, Inazuma," Goto cut in. "Hibiki will teach the class."

"Can I at least have Yukikaze on standby?" Inazuma sighed.

~o~

Hibiki stepped into the classroom, mentally going over her lesson plan and noting the absolute quiet that followed her.

"Khorosho," she nodded. "Anyway, I see we are beginning in 1945. That is good. The sudden yet inevitable betrayal of the capitalists requires more than the cursory mention I'm sure Wisconsin did. Now, we start with Berlin..."

~o~

"I hate to say I told you so, nanodesu," Inazuma stated with a hint of smug. "But I told you so."

"Inazuma, do me a favor," Fubuki groaned, thunking her head against the nearest wall. "Shut up."

"I suppose we should have expected this," Goto added, his voice muffled by the arms cradling his face.

"Well, in fairness, she did keep the class under control, and that was my main concern with putting Yukikaze in control," Ooyodo cut in, completely unfazed. "Perhaps a joint teaching?"

"Yeah, okay, just do it."


	122. Rule 2410

**Rule 2410: To all subs stop pretending to be trees, you not fooling anyone and you are embarrassing the Navy.  
**  
U-47 sighed contentedly as she sat under her maple trees, watching their red and orange leaves drift down in the crisp fall air. Independence for her U-boats, hard-won as it was, came with a price, and it was this grove that allowed her to recover from running the biggest shipgirl fleet in the world. Yes, the biggest. Not even the Americans had this many shipgirls in one fleet, though their overall navy was bigger and far more powerful.

Anyway, it was peaceful, and quiet, and perfect for U-47 to let her mind go. Well, it would be, if it weren't for some niggling thought in the back of her mind that something was off.

Slowly, she scanned her trees again. Nothing was really jumping out, except... there. Her eyes locked onto an odd rippling pattern set against one of the trees. Scowling, she stood and stalked over it, examining the distortion. Then, she gave it a hearty punch straight to the center.

"Hurk!"

The distortion resolved into U-883 as she slumped over, groaning in pain. U-47 noted that she'd apparently hit one of the larger submarine's kidneys - or at least, something sensitive where the kidneys would be on a normal human. More mysteriously, she was wearing some sort of camouflage clothing that blended in disturbingly well with the bark of her maples; only her face was unmarked.

"What on earth were you doing?" she asked.

"To defeat the tree menace..." the submarine groaned. "I must... become a tree!"

U-47's palm met her face. The whole tree thing that many of the more inexperienced U-boats had picked up was a continual thorn in her side. As much as U-463 had started it on a lark - and she wanted to _strangle_ the Milk Cow for starting it - it had spread like wildfire, with her U-boats funding logging companies and Brazilian beef ranchers and nearly denuding their island base of trees before the older U-boats knocked some sense into them. And shore leave, of course, tended to leave them gibbering in terror.

"So, any other hidden tree ninjas I should know about?" she asked dryly.

Standing, U-883 groaned and stretched her back before speaking, verterbrae popping in sequence. "Nah, I was the only one good enough to even try. Everyone else is on the mainland."

Nodding, U-47 was just about to kick out the other sub and go back to relaxing when a worrying thought occurred to her. "How much worse are those other subs?"

"Well..."

~o~

Admiral Hartmann stared at U-1279, who had somehow absconded with his floor plant and was now standing in a pot, a bit of shrubbery tied to her head and two more pieces held in her hands. U-1279 stared back in a contest that had been going on for a solid fifteen minutes.

Finally, the U-boat broke the silence. "I'm a tree."

"Sure you are," the admiral deadpanned back.


	123. Rule 2411

**Rule 2411: Neon and glitter are not camouflage.  
**  
 _"Hey, everyone, Naka-chan here!"_ the fleet's idol said into the camera, the screen mostly taken up by her face. Said face was liberally decorated by neon-bright blue facepaint, the paint in turn bathed in blue glitter. Silver glitter covered the rest of her exposed skin. Overall, she looked like a glam rocker had fallen face-first into a vat of that silver glitter. _"And I'm here to test a new camouflage scheme of my own design. Haven't figured out what to call it yet, I'll be taking requests! Now, let's find out how well this works!"  
_  
The camera panned out, showing a small group of Abyssal heavy cruisers in the distance, just drifting on the water. _"Alright, there's our target,"_ Naka explained. _"If this works, I should be able to sneak up on them and torpedo them. Wish me luck!"  
_  
Slowly, the camera, and by extension Naka, crept closer. An astute viewer, at this point, would notice from the slight lensflare playing over the camera and the sun sitting high in a cloudless sky that the sunlight was reflecting off the glitter, much like an orange and blue disco ball.

As such, the results were blindingly obvious to anyone with half a brain. Which is probably why Naka was yelping as much in surprise as in panic when the Abyssals turned, spotted her, and opened fire, forcing her to retreat under a hail of 8" fire.

 _"Not as planned! Not as planned!"_ the light cruiser wailed as she fled. Finally, shrapnel or a shell or something hit the camera, shaking it and then turning the feed black.

Sendai didn't notice, she was too busy rolling on the floor howling with laughter. "G-Glitter...!" she managed to get out before descending back into gales.

In fairness to the light cruiser, _everyone_ had found Naka's mishap hilarious once it was found out she was alive and not in need of dock time, by some miracle. Seriously, glitter and neon blue paint? It was a wonder she hadn't tipped the Abyssals off _before_ approaching.

Finally, Sendai's laughter died down, and after getting her breath back, she strode over to her closet and threw it open. White face paint was stacked on her desk, joined by black hair dye, blue contacts, and an assortment of pitch-black clothing and hand-worked armor plating.

"Lemme show you how a _real_ master of disguise does things," Sendai said.

~o~

Two days later found Sendai with a small troop of Abyssals, a mixed cruiser-destroyer group that had bought her story about being a new Light Cruiser boss like it was at a 90% off sale. And to think: apart from her contacts, dyed hair and whitened skin, and a black version of her usual outfit, she looked exactly the same! It helped that she knew most Abyssals under battleship or carrier tonnage were as dumb as a box of rocks. Actually, no, that was insulting the intelligence of rocks.

Either way, she was getting a _ton_ of valuable intelligence off these guys that her fairies were frantically recording. All in all, it seemed her camouflage was working beautifully. A smirk played over her face as she contemplated how best to lord this over Naka when she got back.

[Boss! We got company!]

Sendai sighed and rolled her eyes at the interruption from the lone Ri-class in the group. The sooner the better, frankly; these guys were no conversationalists. "Are they _friendly_ company or _unfriendly_ company, you idiots?" she deadpanned.

The Ri opened her mouth, only for a heavy shell - 14", her mind supplied - neatly obliterated it.

"Never mind, that answers that," she muttered, scanning the horizon herself. There, cruising right for them, were Haruna and Kirishima, leading all four of the Myoko sisters and the Sakawa-led destroyer squadron.

"Right," she said to the Abyssals gathered around her. "We're right fucked. I'm not equipped to tackle two battleships, and those heavy cruisers'll run us down. There's only one thing to do." She jabbed her finger at her approaching comrades. "Attack! Attack with all your might! Earn your life in combat!"

The Abyssals cheered, and charged, and none of them noticed Sendai quietly steaming the other way.

"I'd better get this makeup off, at least," she muttered. The whistle of a shell interrupted her thoughts, and she juked right to avoid an 8" shell crashing into the sea next to her. A glance over her shoulder revealed Ashigara and Haguro in hot pursuit. "Oh, lovely."

~o~

"Very high agility," Ashigara noted as she and Haguro pursued the new Abyssal light cruiser type. Her lips pursed as another salvo fell wide due to a well-timed turn, but inside she was squealing. It felt _so good_ to be out on the sea and fighting again, no matter how much she enjoyed her honey and helping with his work.

"Should we split up, try to box it in?" Haguro suggested.

That drew a firm shake of her head. "No, remember the joint practices with the Americans? It'd simply charge one of us and unleash a hail of 6" HE." That had been an unpleasant thing to find out first-hand. "We keep pursuing; sooner or later it'll get hit and slowed."

Haguro didn't reply, and Ashigara grimaced; she was probably reliving memories of Empress Augusta Bay. Hopefully this battle would be over soon.

It was not to be. The Abyssal led them on a merry chase for a solid hour, and by the time the rest of the task force cut off any escape, Ashigara was steaming mad. Taking her chance, she rushed up to the Abyssal, ignored the cry of "Ashi, wait, it's me, Sen-!", and began repeatedly punching it, drawing some very satisfying grunts of pain. It took her five minutes before she stopped and realized that yes, she had just spent five minutes turning Sendai's face into hamburger.

"Oops."

~o~

Jintsuu sighed, chancing glances at her sisters. Naka was sulking on her bed, pointedly _not_ looking at Sendai, who was passed out on her own bed bandaged up like Shishio Makoto, at least on the face. Honestly, what was she going to with those two?

Thankfully, a knock at the door terminated any further thoughts along those lines. Standing, she opened the door to find Ooyodo standing there. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry I have to ask this, Jintsuu, but are you planning to wear a gothic lolita outfit to try and imitate an Isolate Island Princess or something?" the base's secretary asked in a long-suffering tone.

Jintsuu blinked. "No?"

"How about as a Light Cruiser Princess?"

"No."

"Or-"

"Ooyodo," Jintsuu interrupted. "Rest assured, I will not be dressing in _anything_ to try and camouflage myself against Abyssals. You have my word."

At that, Ooyodo slumped as tension flowed out of her shoulders. "Thank the gods that at least _one_ of you has some sense."

 _"I heard that!"_ Naka snapped.


	124. Rule 2414

**Rule 2414. You are** ** _NOT_** **to attempt to find how shipgirls make babies. Even if its in the name of SCIENCE!**

All eyes were on Enterprise as she tore through an absolute mountain of food. Granted, Enterprise ate a lot _normally_ , but she generally didn't outpace Akagi and Kaga, nor catch up to Yamato.

"You've been eating more than usual lately..." said battleship remarked over her own meal.

"Are you calling me fat?" Enterprise snapped in between bites.

She also generally didn't get so snippy. Yamato sighed internally as the theory she'd been knocking around for a few days gained a little strength. "No, I'm not calling you fat," Yamato very patiently explained. "In fact, as far as I know, you've barely gained any weight at all. And you're eating things that you... normally wouldn't eat." That last was accompanied by her pointing to the natto currently clutched in Enterprise's chopsticks.

The carrier paused with the food halfway to her mouth, and glanced down at it. After a few seconds, she shrugged and ate the beans anyway. "Yeah, I dunno why this actually tastes good for once, but whatever."

This time the sigh was entirely external. "Can we at least see Akashi? Just to be sure?"

"Alright, fine," Enterprise groused, standing. "Lemme just get some onigiri to go first."

~o~

Thirty minutes and two dozen salmon onigiri later found the two sitting in Akashi's workshop as the repair ship puttered around, having measured something with Enterprise's body. Finally, she came to a halt in front of them.

"Well, congrats, you two," Akashi drawled. "I still have no idea how you two do it, but Enterprise is pregnant."

Silence. Enterprise was gaping open-mouthed, rice falling into her lap, while Yamato nodded sagely. "I, Yamato, thought so."

"BULLSHIT!"

Everyone turned to the Yuubaris, both of whom had barged into Akashi's workshop looking outright _pissed_. "Again?! Seriously?!" one of them demanded. "And you couldn't have let us at least _record_ this to try and get some fucking _answers?!"  
_  
"Our sex lives are none of your business, thank you very much," Yamato sniffed haughtily. Her rigging manifested, and she pinned the two mad scientists with a glare and her 18" guns. "And if you push that, I, Yamato, will be more than happy to give you a reason not to."

The Yuubaris flinched, and exchanged glances.

"Plan B?"

"Plan B."

"We'll just go with Plan B, then," they answered in unison.

"Good," Yamato stated, grabbing Enterprise's arm. "In the meantime, Enterprise and I have some planning to do."

As the couple left, Akashi eyed her sometime-helpers. "Don't do anything rash."

"Pfft, rash?" Yuubari scoffed. "Please, we'll be super careful."

~o~

"What."

Zuikaku stared openly at the twin Yuubaris, honestly unsure if she'd heard them right. In her peripheral vision, she had the rare occasion of seeing Kaga similarly gobsmacked.

"Like we said, we need to record your... let's call 'em 'bedroom activities'," Yuubari repeated. "So we can see how the _hell_ Enterprise and Yamato keep having kids!"

"Don't worry, this shouldn't be _too_ obtrusive," the other Yuubari added, even as she wheeled in an odd device the size of a refrigerator.

The fleet carriers exchanged glances, and the Zuikaku sighed and waved her hand. "Grab 'em."

Before either Yuubari could really process that statement, Kaga surged forward, grabbed them both, and wrapped them up in an extension chord the Yuubaris had lying around. As she secured them to a pair of chairs, Zuikaku began to circle the room, examining the eclectic collection of tools scattered about.

"Hey, what's the big idea?!" Yuubari demanded.

"Ssh... I'm deciding."

"D-Deciding what?" the other Yuubari stammered.

"Deciding what I'm going to use on you," Zuikaku coolly responded, picking up a set of heavy duty pliers. "Let's start with these pliers." She moved on, picking something up and revealing a claw hammer. "And then the hammer..." One of their welding torches came up. "You guys don't have an acetylene cooking torch, do you?" Both captives frantically shook their head no. "Pity. All this stuff's too hot. No torches this time."

"Disappointing," Kaga chimed in.

"I know, right?"

Next up came an electric power drill, Zuikaku giving it a quick whirl. "Nice, looks like you guys charged this up," the carrier said appreciatively. It too joined the hammer and pliers. By now both light cruisers were visibly sweating.

Leaving behind the tool cabinet - and it didn't escape _anyone's_ notice that it was only a small fraction of what was available - Zuikaku scanned around the room, her eyes falling on a small device resembling a remote control unit, two prongs extending from one end.

"Oh, I don't know what this does, but I'm eager to find out!" she said, grabbing it.

"Alright, alright, we'll call off the plan, just put that down!" Yuubari howled.


	125. Rule 2420

**Rule 2420. For ship girls wishing to practice their strings, please do so at reasonable hours and places where your... improvements will not impact the hearing on the rest of the base or civilian neighbors.**

When it happened, the only surprise was that it didn't happen sooner.

Wait...

Sorry, back it up. After Lazy Town's We Are Number One went viral, which was shortly before the start of the Abyssal War, most figured that Shiratsuyu would latch onto it as her theme song. What with her obsession with being Number One and all. Instead, it took a few years to happen, which was long enough to leave people surprised and off guard when it _did_ happen, especially _how_ it happened.

See, Shiratsuyu was biding her time, because the song demanded more than just herself. If she was to truly do the song justice, she needed to be more than just herself!

Hence her carefully maneuvering a cardboard box out of the Yuubaris' workshop in the dead of night.

"Alright," she said, placing it opening-up on the concrete outside. "So glad those two are like the Russians, they never throw anything away. Now, I think I just..." Clambering into the box, she sat there, feeling kind of stupid. "So, how do you start this thiiiiiIIIIIII-!"

BOINK!

Silence enveloped the area as Shiratsuyu and the box vanished. It was a short silence, though, for 2.378 seconds later the box winked back into existence, only with _four_ Shiratsuyus sitting in it.

"Well, that wasn't the plan, but it all worked out!" one of the Shiratsuyus said as she clambered out of the box.

"Let's not take too long, though, okay?" another Shiratsuyu said, a saxophone held in one hand. "I've got a sortie to go back to tomorrow. Next year. Ugh, time travel is so confusing."

"Don't even get me started," a third Shiratsuyu said. She was carrying a horn.

"Since it's time travel, wouldn't you just be able to show up whenever you need to be?" the final Shiratsuyu remarked as she maneuvered a drum set out of the box. How they'd all fit with _that_ in there is a mystery of the universe.

"Trust me, the time machine isn't that accurate," the instrument-less Shiratsuyu stated. "Now, I'll be right back. Gotta go grab the bass."

~o~

A few buildings away, Arashi was sleeping soundly with the rest of Desdiv 4, the blue light of Hagikaze's nightlight soothing and not at all a problem with going to sleep. On this warm night, the quartet had their windows open, which allowed the distant tones of a saxophone to drift in, prompting the redhead to tap her fingers along to the beat.

And then the rest of the instruments came in.

The horn and drums were fine, but the bass... it sounded like Justin Bieber being castrated without anesthetic while being funneled through Death Metal distortion effects. Arashi's flew open, she jerked upright, and then jumped out the window, charging for the source.

Thankfully, the awful noise cut out, letting Arashi pick up speed. Within seconds, she skidded to a halt, finding three Shiratsuyus berating a fourth, crouched near a bass with a few snapped strings. Growling, the redhead pushed off the ground and slammed her foot right in the surprised destroyer's face.

"What the fuck was that!" she roared, the other Shiratsuyus taking a nervous step away from her. "There's no way you can be number one with playing skills like that!"

With a roar of anger, Shiratsuyu jumped to her feet and charged Arashi, the redhead merely holding out her hand and stopping the other destroyer well short.

"Anyone else want to try something?"

The other Shiratsuyus glanced at each other, and all shrugged.

"Nah."

"I'm good."

"You want to be number one, you gotta do it yourself."

"Good call," Arashi said, before turning back to Shiratsuyu and dragging her in close. Despite herself, Shiratsuyu gulped audibly at the expression on the other destroyer's face. "Let me make something clear: if you pull a crime against music like that ever again, I will shove the sunshine so far up where the sun don't shine that you will vomit nothing but warm sunny days."

"Uh, how does that work?"

The tense atmosphere promptly evaporated as the horn Shiratsuyu gave voice to the fridge logic.

"Are you talking about a nuke?" she wondered. "Actual sunshine? I don't think anyone's actually capable of that. Or-"

"Just... don't do it again," Arashi groaned. "And get these three back to wherever they came from, okay?"

"Uh, sure."

As the four Shiratsuyus clambered back into the time machine, Arashi began to slowly make her way back to the destroyer dorms, a few tears slipping from her eyes. The threat she'd been working so long on, defused in an instant!


	126. Rule 2422

**Rule 2422: Bribing other kanmusu to let you have their AA guns doesn't work. Looking at you Akizuki and Satsuki. The American DD's are not the solution to your issue.**

Akizuki strode through Yokosuka with determination and purpose towards Akashi's workshop. She had a mission, and she was going to see it completed!

Soon enough she reached the door to the workship, and put her hand on the doorknob - or would have, had another, smaller hand not already been there. Akizuki turned her glare on Satsuki, the smaller blonde destroyer glaring right back.

"What are you doing here, Miss 'I already outgun most of our cruisers'?" Satsuki snapped.

"I could ask you the same, Miss 'I'm too small to carry a useful AA armament anyway'," Akizuki fired back.

The two maintained the glare for a moment longer before turning it on the door. It was a wonder it didn't spontaneously combust.

"Truce?" Akizuki offered.

"Truce," Satsuki agreed.

And with that, they pushed the door open, and made their demand.

"Akashi! You'd better give us our new AA, right now!"

Immediately, both shipgirls felt foolish, as Akashi was nowhere to be seen. No, wait, there were her boots, sticking out from a set of rigging that they took a moment to recognize as Fuso's. It took a moment because it was _also_ festooned with quad Bofors mounts.

"Why that lousy-!" Satsuki growled, her charge forward arrested by Akizuki putting her hand on her shoulder.

"Let's give her a chance to explain herself," she said, and Satsuki backed down. It did not escape the older destroyer that said hand had caused her hull to creak ominously. Yes. She could be patient.

~o~

Fifteen minutes later, that patience was utterly exhausted.

"What the hell is taking her so long?!" Satsuki shrieked, kicking over a tool chest with a loud crashing sound and wrenches scattered all over the place.

Though Akizuki didn't move or say anything in response, she felt much the same way. Akashi was alive, because the boots would occasionally move and they could hear mutters and muffled curses and the sounds of tools coming from under the rigging, but the repair ship hadn't moved out, and in the destroyer's opinion it was high time she took matters into her own hands. Marching up to Akashi's boots, she grabbed one and rolled the repair ship out from under the rigging. Ah. Earbuds. That explained a lot. Before Akashi could protest, she pulled earbuds out - and was promptly blasted onto her butt by a wall of screaming and distorted guitars.

"Don't do that again," Akashi snapped, popping out the other earbud and pausing the music. "Now, what's so important you two felt the need to interrupt me?"

With Akizuki still lying moaning on the floor, Satsuki took the lead. "When are we gonna get our new AA guns, huh?" she demanded. "We need those!"

"You and every other shipgirl in Japan!" Akashi snapped. "We _still_ haven't figured out how to produce shipgirl equipment on an industrial scale, not even the US, and it's all I can do to add the guns as shipgirls get repaired! So unless you want to eat a few Abyssal shells to the face, you'll wait your damn turn like everyone else!"

Satsuki's mouth shut, teeth clicking together, and Akizuki was similarly speechless. And yes, she had recovered enough to be cognizant. Silently, the two stood and left. That didn't mean they'd given up, though. The minute they were out of Akashi's workshop, they put their heads together.

"Okay, do you have a Plan B?" Satsuki asked.

Akizuki hummed in thought, then nodded. "Yes, actually. Follow me..."

~o~

William D. Porter gaped at the massive quantity of food being offloaded from the C-17 that had just landed. "They eat _all_ of this?"

"Nah, I doubt it," New Jersey replied. "I don't think they _can_. But I don't care who eats it as long as someone enjoys it, even if some of the rest of us can't quite grok the concept."

The destroyer nodded, recalling the expressions of some of the shipgirls who had loaded up the plane. "Yeah, I can see that."

Then someone dropped a box just as Akizuki walked in, and Jersey sprinted off to yell at the handler, leaving Willie D. alone to watch. And, apparently, to talk to the blonde-haired destroyer that ran up to her. What was her name again?

"Hi!" the destroyer said. "My name's Satsuki, pleased to meet you!"

"Uh, hi," Willie D. replied. "William D. Porter. What's up?"

"I need AA guns," Satsuki said, not losing her smile. "Bofors, Oerlikons, whatever. I need 'em. Enough to equip me 'n Akizuki."

"And how," Willie D. deadpanned. "Do you expect me to _get_ those guns?"

"Eh, I figured you could just give me yours," Satsuki replied, rummaging in her pocket. "And I definitely wouldn't make you do it for free, so..."

Willie D.'s eyes widened as the Japanese destroyer pulled out a full box set with what looked like _every_ Macross series Japan had ever produced, as well as a Tokyo Mew-Mew DVD. She'd heard enough rants from Midway and Wisconsin to know that both were basically unavailable in the US without godly Google-fu and anti-malware programs that would've made the NSA jealous.

"And they're..."

"English subtitles and everything!"

Oh, what those two would _pay_ for those DVDs. More than enough to get her AA suite restocked if she had to pay herself with enough left over for some _serious_ spending. And, of course, Satsuki hadn't said anything about the _fire directors...  
_  
"You've got yourself a deal!" William D. Porter crowed, manifesting her rigging. "Help yourself!"

Satsuki blinked, and then went to work, Willie D.'s fairies assisting in hauling off her five twin Bofors and seven single Oerlikons. That done, the destroyers parted ways, both cackling over how they'd screwed each other over.

Oh, if only Satsuki knew.

~o~

Some days later saw Akizuki sortie, the four Bofors mounts Satsuki had left her taking the place of her triple 25mm and fourteen of the singles. Not ideal, but Satsuki's weight restrictions meant she needed the Oerlikons more. And now, Abyssal planes were approaching, ready to be chewed up and spat out by her new guns. She grinned.

"Open fire!" she barked.

Immediately, the Bofors joined her already-firing 3.9" at a range that her 25mm guns simply couldn't manage. Those Abyssal planes were going to be dead any second now! Aaaaany second now... Any-

Akizuki threw herself into a violent evasion, a bomb sending a column of water up where she'd just been, 25mm chattering.

"Hey, what gives?" she demanded of her gun crews.

"Desu! Desu desu!"

 _"What do you mean, you haven't practiced?!"  
_  
The whistle of another bomb hit her ears, but not nearly soon enough for her to do anything about it. Luckily, it hit her straight in the face without exploding, but that still knocked the destroyer ass over teakettle, skidding to a halt right next to Teruzuki.

"Really, I thought you knew better, sis!" the other destroyer groused. "Better guns aren't much help without better directors!"

"Just let me sink..." Akizuki groaned in embarrassment.


	127. Rule 2424

**AN: I know I said I wouldn't do guest chapters, but in many ways Wreck is DalekIx's character, and I honestly don't think I could execute this snip any better. So here we are!**

 **Rule 2424. USS Kentucky (BB-6) is, indeed, a terribly designed ship that was called a sin against naval engineering** ** _by her own captain_** **. Mention this at your own risk, because her daughter** ** _will_** **find you. Her** ** _guided missile battleship-carrier_** **daughter. Her** ** _Abyssal_** **guided missile battleship-carrier daughter.**

It was a warm, sunny day, and four off-duty battleships had elected to take advantage and parked themselves on the beach.

"Would you look at that."

Wisconsin looked up from her magazine to look at what South Dakota was talking about, and beheld a most curious sight.

It was the recently-returned USS Kentucky. The battleship was wearing a modest one-piece swimsuit over her awkwardly-proportioned form and sitting cross-legged on a beach towel. A bookmarked book lay beside her.

In front of her, sitting on the sand with her tail curled around her and a basket of seashells in her lap, was the ship that would've been the Kearsage-class's successor. Wreck, the formerly unfinished battleship Kentucky, was wearing an oversized t-shirt over two-piece swimsuit.

Wisconsin had to check her recognition books twice to make sure it was her. The Abyssal horror was... calm, and listening with rapt attention to what the older battleship was saying. Gone was the near-permanent, mocking smirk on her face, replaced with a cheerful smile.

Wisconsin, who had been on the wrong end of the Abyssal's wrath more times than she liked, gaped at the scene.

"What the hell?"

"Wreck barged into the summoning chamber when she learned Kentucky came back," Washington explained, the book she'd been reading on her lap, "She's been following her since then, like a lost puppy..." She tapped her chin. "Or like a child and her mother."

Wisconsin looked at Kentucky, at the ex-Kentucky, and back again.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, "They look _nothing_ alike."

"And Big E sure as hell doesn't look like Nuke E," Iowa pointed out, "'cept maybe 'round the eyes. Besides, BB-66 was supposed to get old 'tucky's bell. Maybe she _sounds_ like her if she doesn't do the creepy voice."

They looked at the other two ship sharing the beach for a moment. Whatever Kentucky was talking about, she seemed to be getting to the good part, judging from Wreck's face.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Wisconsin asked.

"The Great White Fleet, most likely," Washington answered, "It was the high point of her career."

"No shit," SoDak agreed, "I'm amazed she managed that at all."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Dakota..." Washington warned.

"No, seriously," SoDak insisted, "Have you people _seen_ her rigging? Double turrets! With ports so big you could fit a shell through them!" She rubbed her temples. "And don't even get me _started_ on the whole concept of "coastal defence battleships", which is just... ugh!"

"Dak," Iowa said, "It ain't nice to talk about people behind their backs, you know?"

"Iowa, her own _captain_ called her a crime against naval construction," South Dakota shot back, "Seriously, with that much going against her, it's a miracle nothing happened."

Iowa sighed.

Later that evening, South Dakota was getting ready for bed when there was a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, wondering who could be there at this hour.

"It's me!" came the soft, gentle tones of the USS Kentucky, "Can I have a word with you?"

South Dakota frowned. And then she shrugged.

"Sure!" she said, opening the door, "You can come right... in..."

[Huh. Would you look at that?] said the Abyssal standing in her doorway, her mouth twisted into an evin grin and her eyes filled with a smouldering hatred, [I really _do_ sound just like her! So, what were you saying about my mother again?]


	128. Rule 2429

**Rule 2429: No, you cannot play "Fetch" with Yuudachi, Shigure, and Kawakaze. Even if they're the ones who suggest it.**

Taiho stretched much akin to a cat on the towel she'd set out on the lawn, then settled back into sunbathing. Now _this_ was relaxing, oh yes. Why more of her fellow carriers didn't do this was beyond her, considering they usually needed this more than she did. She quickly amended that statement; many of the other carriers had their own ways of relaxing, whether it was Hiryuu training, Amagi cooking, Akagi _eating_ (seriously, the woman had a serious problem with stress eating), or... whatever it was Kaga and Zuikaku got up to at night. _That_ was something she really didn't like thinking about.

A shake of her head banished those thoughts, and all others as she relaxed onto the towel again.

This time, her relaxed state lasted a solid half hour until she felt something smooth and somewhat hard poke her side. Sitting up a bit, she pushed her sunglasses up to find a worn baseball lying on her towel, and also Yuudachi, Shigure, and Kawakaze running towards her.

"Oh, hey, you got our ball, poi!" Yuudachi exclaimed once the destroyers were in earshot.

"I _told_ you it was this way," Kawakaze grumbled.

Taiho eyed the ball and picked it up. Well, it definitely looked well-used. "What were you using it for?" she asked. A valid question, considering the lack of gloves and bats.

"Uh, we were playing fetch," Shigure answered. "But it wasn't very fun."

"Yeah, one of us has to keep throwing the ball, poi! And that's no fun."

Idly, Taiho tossed the ball up, which prompted all three destroyers to freeze and track it. Curious, Taiho repeated the action, and not only did the little ear-like tufts of hair Shigure and Yuudachi sported spring up, but the carrier couldn't suppress an image of wagging tails and fanged snouts from all three of them.

"Tell you what," she said, a smile creeping onto her face. The ball went up again, tracked by the destroyers. "I'll help you play- FETCH!"

With that last word, Taiho threw her arm back and slung the ball forward. Unfortunately, in her haste she'd dumped _all_ her horsepower into the throw, which turned a soft ballistic trajectory into a high-velocity line drive. A high-velocity line drive that intersected with one of the base buildings.

Taiho winced as shattering glass was joined by crunches, cracks, and high-pitched screaming, all of which only intensified when the destroyer trio, who had immediately sprinted after the ball, completely ignored the fact that there was now a building in their way, with the result that there were now three round destroyer-sized holes in said building.

"Time to go..." she muttered. Still, she made a mental note to try and get those three in her screen at some point. And to carry a baseball with her at all times.

~o~

That day, as it turned out, was tomorrow. Fubuki had had an odd look on her face when Taiho made her request, but she still approved it. And wouldn't you know it, the Abyssals completely cooperated by sending a cruiser force on an end-around.

"Ow!" Taiho yelped as an 8" skipped off her magazine armor while she tried to find the ball in her hold. "Where is it, where is it... a-ha!" Holding up the ball in triumph, she called out, "Yuudachi! Shigure! Kawakaze!"

All three destroyers turned to look at the carrier - and their eyes locked onto the ball.

"See the ball?" Taiho continued to call out. She moved her hand back and forth, destroyer eyes following. "See the ball? Go fetch!" And with that, she hurled the ball at the oncoming Abyssals.

The resulting carnage would dominate the rumor mill for a solid two weeks.


	129. Rule 2431

**Rule 2431. Patrol route 33 is now designated as a Submarine and Large Ship Only patrol. It has a lot of "Pleasure Cruisers".**

Patrol Route 33 was a fairly standard and very safe route, steaming south from Sasebo or north from Okinawa before threading around Amami Island and then out to the airfield islands Kitadaito and Minamidaito. What made it a safe route was that Abyssals rarely ventured that far west after the repeated asskickings at the hands of the Japanese, but the fact was that it was still in the outer cordon of Japan's defenses and thus needed a regular shipgirl presence to catch enemy infiltrators.

But the truest measure of how safe it was was the fact that the patrols regularly encountered civilian ships.

"Wow..." Ume and Momo breathed as they watched a mid-sized cruise ship steam along ten miles off the port quarter. The two Matsu-class destroyers, recently summoned, had been put on the route to gain a little experience. And luckily for them, they had as much help as they could ask for. "Hey, can we get closer?"

"Let me check," Inazuma replied, putting on a little more steam so she could catch up with Tenryuu. "Can we go check out the ship?"

"Sure!" the light cruiser replied. "Just take Nagato with you just in case, okay?"

Inazuma eyed the battleship that had barged into their patrol and was thoroughly starry eyed at the two escort destroyers, and mentally sighed. This could only end badly. Still, on a tactical level Tenryuu's suggestion made sense. "Alright, sure."

"Yes!" Nagato cheered, before freezing and composing herself. "I-I mean, yes, excellent."

Rolling her eyes, Inazuma took the lead, Ume, Momo, and Nagato trailing behind her. The rest of the patrol quickly put them out of mind, especially when they went out of sight.

"WHAAAAAAAAAT?!"

Until a colossal scream of incredulity rang over the water. Tenryuu sighed. "Akatsuki, go check that out."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"And what have I said about calling me ma'am?!" she snapped at the departing destroyer. "Destroyers... well, looks like it's just you and me, girls."

"Da," Hibiki nodded.

"I think I see another ship on the horizon," Ikazuchi added. "Let me just... yacht. And-" Suddenly, the destroyer blanched, clutched her eyes, and _screamed_. "Augh! My eyes! Why would anyone _do_ that?!"

Frowning, Tenryuu squinted at the ship on the horizon, her sensitive optics dutifully relaying the image. Immediately, she regretted the action. Ikazuchi was right, why would anyone _do_ that, especially with perfectly good fruit?!

"Okay," Tenryuu said, switching her eyepatch to her _other_ eye. Logically, it wouldn't help, but she needed the psychological balm it gave. In her peripheral vision she could see Hibiki chugging down her flask. "We are turning around, calling this-"

"Fiiiiiilth! Fiiiiiiilth!"

"Calling this in," the light cruiser continued, ignoring Akatsuki speeding by, screaming that word over and over. "And if some Abyssals come by, tough, they can sink. How's that sound?"

"NOT ENOUGH!"

"Aw, Jesus..."

Nagato was in full Super Nagamon glory as she stomped up to the rest of the group, Ume and Momo following wide-eyed and trembling and with a disgusted Inazuma bringing up the rear.

"We must sink every one of them for sullying the eyes of our young destroyers!" Nagato declared.

"No, what we need to do is get back to Sasebo and find some way to _blot this day from our memories!"_ Tenryuu snarled as she grabbed Nagato by the collar and hauled her in close. "And if you jeopardize that, Nagato, I swear to God I will fight you, and I will find a way to win, Super Nagamon or no Super Nagamon!"

"Of course, I suppose such revenge can wait," Nagato demurred.

"Khorosho," Hibiki cut in, shaking her flask. "I'm out."

With that, Ikazuchi arrived back with Akatsuki in tow, and the group set course for Sasebo, Nagato lecturing a stoic Hibiki about the evils of drinking.

~o~

Heavy cruiser Algerie of the Marine Nationale grimaced as she read the day's paper. So, the Japanese had problems with "pleasure cruisers", too. The Americans had complained loudly and at length about that, and it was chronic here in the Med. She shook her head and turned the page. Let perverts be perverts. As long as they didn't see them-

*PFFFT!*

Frowning, Algerie glanced over to a nearby table, where the inhabitant had apparently just sprayed coffee all over it. It was a dark-haired young woman with decidedly Oriental features, clad in a windbreaker, jeans, and fingerless gloves, all worn and somewhat tattered, but not to the point of irrespectability. Said woman was staring at the newspaper in naked shock, open to the same article the Frenchwoman had just read.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Algerie commented, causing the woman to jerk and stare at her. "Those 'pleasure cruisers'. Two consenting adults and all that, but I much prefer people's sex lives to be kept behind locked doors."

"I-I, uh... yeah, I agree," the woman replied, glancing back at the article. "And they're letting _destroyers_ see this, which makes it worse! I mean, I've heard a lot of destroyers aren't as childish as they look, but some of them must be!"

"I agree," Algerie said, pleased to find someone agreeing with her. And in service of that, she stuck her hand out. "MN Algerie."

The woman glanced down at the hand, and something flitted across her face. Was that... fear? "Ah... Takamori- No, wait, Western order, Asuna Takamori," the newly named Asuna stuttered, shaking the proffered hand.

"Charmed," Algerie replied. "So, what brings you to France? I'm guessing from your name that you're Japanese, and you don't look like a typical Japanese tourist."

"I've been backpacking and hitchhiking the continent," Asuna replied. "My camp's outside the city and is... probably not entirely legal."

That fit. And looking closer, Algerie could believe she had the fitness to do so. "Well, in that case," she said, standing. "Why don't I take you shopping? You look like you could use a replacement outfit.

"Aheh..." Asuna chuckled nervously. "Well, I don't have much money, and I need to go now if I want to get back to my camp before dark..."

"Nonsense!" Algerie sniffed. "I'll pay for the outfit, consider it a gift. And I can arrange a cab. You, girl, are in dire need of a little pampering, I can sense it."

Asuna opened her mouth, then closed it. "You know what?" she said. "You're right. Lead the way!"

Grinning, Algerie turned and began to walk towards the first of the outdoorsy clothing stores she knew. Behind her, Aso glanced back out to sea before following Algerie. First chance she got, she was sinking some "pleasure cruisers". But not yet.


	130. Rule 2435

**Rule 2435. A reminder that giving liquid courage to ship girls outside of certain cases before most battles is generally not a good idea.  
**  
"Everyone, up up up! We need to sortie ten minutes ago!"

Her announcement made, Pennsylvania leaned back and waited. New Mexico was the first battleship out the door, followed shortly by Arizona, Maryland, Idaho, and Mississippi. Conspicuously absent were the remaining four of the Big Five, and Maryland didn't know where her sisters were when asked, so Pennsylvania made a beeline for the room Tennessee and California shared, pounding on the door.

"Open up, it's sortie time!"

The door jiggled, then swung open, revealing-

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Pennsylvania groaned, slapping her hand to her face.

California, dressed in her usual sleep outfit of a too-tight tank top and an equally too-tight pair of very short shorts, smiled happily at Pennsylvania, visibly drunk.

"Oh, hey Pennsy..." the battleship slurred, holding up a bottle whiskey. "C'n you tell these guys all they need is a little hair o'th' dog?"

"California, shut up," Colorado growled as she muscled past the battleship, her skin ashen gray. California staggered away, giggling and taking another swig of the whiskey. "Give us five minutes to get our shit together, okay?"

Sighing, Pennsylvania nodded, and true to their word, five minutes later Tennessee, Colorado, and West Virginia marched out, dressed, ready, but also pained and annoyed from what were presumably some apocalyptic hangovers. California was still drunk.

"Can you fight?" Pennsylvania asked them as they marched to the Sound.

"Yeah, we can fight," West Virginia grumbled. "Even California, though she'll mostly be good for close combat."

"That's fine, intel said the enemy was heavy on light forces. Let her handle them if they make a run at us."

"Yay!" California cheered.

As the battleships dove into the water to join their cruiser-destroyer screen, another destroyer, on loan to Oriskany's screen from San Diego while several of her usual destroyers sat in dock, thoughtfully eyed California from the pier.

~o~

"Hey, Willie!"

William D. Porter turned to find a Sumner class destroyer she didn't know waving at her. She did look familiar, though. "Do I know you?"

From the pained look on the destroyer's face, that had been the wrong thing to say. "It's me, Lindsey!" she protested. "We did that seminar on radar picketing together, remember?"

And now it came back. Willie D. flashed the other destroyer a sheepish grin, and rubbed the back of her head. "Heh, sorry, it's been a while." She grimaced as she remembered what she'd been doing before getting sidetracked. "Look, I'd love to catch up, but I need to be on the water ASAP, so-"

"Sure, sure," Lindsey nodded, before suddenly surging forward and grabbing Willie D. and a bottle of something out of her pocket. "I'm sorry about this, but you'll thank me later."

"What are you- mrhpgmrgl..."

Despite her flailing, Willie D. couldn't stop the strong alcohol from flowing down her throat from the bottle jammed between her lips. Soon, the whole bottle had been emptied, and she slumped in Lindsey's arms. And then, her eyes jumped open - followed shortly by them wobbling all over the place.

"You..." Willie D. groaned, jabbing an accusatory finger at the other destroyer. "I thought we were friendssss..."

"We are, Willie," Lindsey assured her. "And I-"

WHAM!

"Friends don't shove friends down bottles' throats..." Willie countered, her forehead steaming slightly from the headbutt she'd just delivered. "Wait, that doesn't sound right... Eh. What was it I supposed to do again...?" The destroyer eyed the sea, her expression darkening. "Oh. Right. _Those_ assholes. Yeah. _Those_ assholes deserve _all_ the headbutts." And with that, she jumped onto the water and prescribed a wobbly course due west.

~o~

"So, William D. Porter is an angry drunk," Admiral Holloway sighed. "Talk about something I never expected to know before taking this job..."

"On the plus side, she took out three mobile bosses in the process," Wright pointed out.

"And also depth-charged Wahoo, punched out Boston, and downed half of Cowpens' air group," Holloway pointed out. "So this'll have to remain in our back pocket. Where is she right now?"

"Sleeping. Now, in more important news, we need to somehow defuse the impending riot between the Sumner and Fletcher classes..."


	131. Rule 2437

**Rule 2437. You may not mail yourselves to other naval bases.  
**  
"Stupid Jean Bart," Jean Bart grumbled as she assembled the necessary for her new plan. "Stupid obsolete design... stupid admiral... I'll show them all!"

Finishing one last screw, Jean Bart stepped back and examined her handiwork. In center stage was a large cardboard box, a few holes poked in it for air, waiting to be closed up. And surrounding it was a Rube Goldberg-esque device that, if one looked closely, seemed to be to allow the roll of packaging tape at one end to be used.

"Alright, let's get this started!" Jean Bart declared, dropping a large marble into the Rub Goldberg machine and then hopping into the box, shutting the flaps closed behind her. The marble worked its way through the machine, and the machine promptly taped the box shut. That done, Jean Bart settled in to wait.

After a long but not too long wait, the battleship felt the box shake and lift. A grin spread over her face; the plan was working!

~o~

Lorraine bypassed the mail room with the package she'd found. Olympic had dropped by to pick up some mail for destined for the United States, and hopefully he could make a quick detour to Halifax. Thankfully, he was still at the pier when Lorraine showed up.

"Got room for one more?" she called out, hefting the box.

"Sure!"

Permission granted, Lorraine reared back and tossed the box, Olympic catching it, and the battleship had to resist the urge to swoon at his arm muscles bulging as he none-too-carefully stuffed it into his hold. Lusitania might have been something of a wallflower, but the rest of the extended liner family were not.

"You sure you should be so rough with that box?" Lorraine wondered.

"It's not marked fragile," Olympic shrugged. "And if they didn't want the box banged up, shouldn't have gotten it to me late."

~o~

"Hmm..." Olympic hummed as he eyed the thunderheads riding on the horizon. "Should I go around this storm?" He crested a wave, and grinned like a giddy schoolgirl as he rode a wave down. "Nah, fuck that! This is gonna be fun!"

~o~

"Argh, what the bloody hell are Abyssal destroyers doing this close to the Eastern Seaboard?!"

Olympic evaded another salvo of shells, returning fire with a few shots from an old 6"/40 gun he'd nicked and modified into a pistol-like gun. The shot missed, and the Abyssals pressed closer, another salvo ringing out, and this time Olympic's luck ran out: a shell landed and exploded, blowing a hole in his cargo hold. Gritting his teeth, he forged on.

Luckily, Philadelphia showed up to bail him out a few minutes later, and the damage wasn't serious. Some water spray had gotten into his hold, but pumps had quickly gotten it out again. It wasn't a problem.

~o~

Unlike most of the other Admirals in charge of the world's shipgirls, Admiral Lombard rarely had too much to do. The Canadian navy's duties were about as routine as it got, which meant the officer duties were as routine as it got. Which meant anything that broke said routine was a welcome diversion.

"Package for ya, Admiral," Olympic reported, dropping a very large and battered cardboard box in front of her. "Straight from Toulon. Sorry it got a little banged up, ran into some weather trouble on the way here."

Nodding, Lombard stood and opened up the box. Then she blinked. Multiple times. "Why is there a frog battleship in this box?" she asked.

Indeed, sitting there in the box was Jean Bart, battered, bruised, and covered in her own vomit, staring off at nothing. Olympic glanced in the box and his eyes widened comically.

"Trust me, if I'd known there was someone in there I'd never have taken that box," he said faintly. "Now I'm wondering if Lorraine knew..."

Pushing down one of the flaps, Lombard looked at the mailing stamp. Somehow, something told her that that was Jean Bart's handwriting. "I don't think she did," Lombard concluded. "And as much as I'd like a battleship, I'd better send her back before Masson starts yelling at me like Goto did."


	132. Rule 2442

**Rule 2442. Hoel, Heerman, Johnston, and Sammy B. Roberts are to stop trying to prank Yamato for her actions at Samar. Her sister and Enterprise aren't happy.  
**  
"Wait a minute! It was the Hotel that sank us?!"

Johnston fell back on the couch, leaving Samuel B. Roberts, Hoel, and Heermann to gape at the book they'd found. It was _Yamato_ that'd sunk Hoel and Johnston, not Kongo? She'd nearly sunk White Plains from over _30,000 yards away?!  
_  
"Y'know, suddenly I feel a lot less badass for driving her away," Heermann said faintly.

"Are you guys seriously surprised?"

All four shipgirls glanced to the door, where John C. Butler was leaning against the frame.

"I've always been suspicious of the usual accounts," she explained. "I had probably the best view of anyone and Kongo was totally out of position to shoot you guys. Yamato wasn't. But given the problems with swatting destroyers at range with a battleship's main battery..." The DE shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong. But now I know I'm not."

Butler promptly frowned when none of her fellow Taffy 3 members said anything, and that frown morphed into full-blown panic when all four began cackling madly.

"Hehahahahaha..." Heermann laughed. "Kongo might have been off limits by being so badass, but Yamato's totally fair game!"

"You know what this means, girls!" Hoel crowed.

"REVENGE!"

Eyes wide, John C. Butler slipped out of the room, making a mental note to keep her mouth shut. Those destroyers would _not_ enjoy a snitch, and neither would Enterprise finding out she'd known about this. Best to pretend she'd heard and seen nothing.

~o~

For once, Enterprise and Yamato were in San Diego, the carrier humming to herself as she cooked up breakfast in the form of a massive skillet scramble. Yoshino was parked in her high chair, gnawing steadily through an apple. Her rapid toothing was a source of much hair-tearing for Yokosuka's scientists, which was one of the reasons they were currently in San Diego, and both loving mothers had taken the opportunity to find out what their daughter liked.

The answer was _lots_. As it turned out, the shipgirl ability to digest normally non-digestible materials and the usual toddler tendency to stuff anything and everything into their mouths was a hair-raising combination. Enterprise shuddered. That rotten rat still haunted her nightmares.

The sound of footsteps reached her, and she turned around, flashing a smile to Yamato. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, whahahahahahaaaaa..."

Yamato scowled at her partner, adjusting the hotel-style terry cloth towel that was all she was wearing. "If you could stop drooling for one moment-"

"Abuh..."

Sighing, Yamato pulled out her trump card. "Someone took all my clothes and left the towels and a note behind." With that, she slid the note over.

That did the trick. Shaking off her stunned lust, Enterprise picked up the note and read it over.

 _"That's for Samar, you stupid hotel! Mwahahahahahahahaha!"  
_  
"Taffy 3..." Enterprise growled, crumpling up the note.

"So we have a target?"

Everyone stared at Musashi, who had appeared literally out of nowhere.

"BWAH!"

And then they reacted, Enterprise throwing herself back and Yamato merely flinching.

"How did you get here, sister?" Yamato asked, wide-eyed.

"I, Musashi, have discovered the ways of teleportation!" the battleship proudly declared, thrusting her chest forward.

"You begged Kongo," Enterprise deadpanned.

"I begged Kongo."

"Anyway, first we-" Yamato paused, scowling at her attire. "I mean, you two need to find those little brats. And then..."

As the trio hashed out a plan, none of them noticed Yoshino swallow the rest of her apple and toddle off. Why Mommy and Mommy and Aunty Mushi were talking about this was beyond the toddler's mind. After all, the place they were hiding was just so _obvious!_ Carefully climbing up the stairs, the young shipgirl was confront with a dilemma: a hatch in the ceiling that was well out of her reach. Ah, but that set of cabinets weren't out of reach. Clambering up the cabinets like the little monkey she was, she reached the hatch, and punched it open, clambering up into the attic crawlspace.

And sure enough, there were Hoel, Heermann, Johnston, and Sammy B., all pressed to one of the windows overlooking the front lawn.

"Have they left yet?" Sammy B. whispered, a shark-like grin on her face.

"Not yet," Hoel whispered back.

"Aww. I wanna hit something."

"We stick to the plan," Heermann muttered, before a tap on her shoulder drew her attention. "C'mon, sis, I know you're impatient, but-"

The destroyer had one second to take in Yoshino's grinning face before her chubby little fist smacked square into her nose and sent her through the window.

~o~

"Jersey hasn't seen them," Musashi reported, stowing her phone.

"Neither has Nicholas," Enterprise added. "D'you think that maybe-"

Shattering glass sounded out, followed shortly by a loud thump. The two shipgirls exchanged looks and then dashed out the front door, finding Heermann sprawled out on the front lawn, her eyes wobbly and nose bleeding freely. Several more thumps were coming from he shattered attic window she'd presumably come out of. The thumps stopped, and then Yoshino toddled up, waving at her mama and aunt.

"Did she-" Enterprise began.

"Looks like," Musashi replied, before clutching her cheeks and squealing. "Oh, my little niece is so badass!"


	133. Rule 2445

**Rule 2445. Shooting down allied planes during battles with the Abyssals just so you can rescue the pilots and get extra scoops of Ice Cream is forbidden.**

"Why can't _I_ get ice cream for rescuing pilots..." USS Reno muttered as she absently fired her guns at incoming Abyssal aircraft. "I shoot down planes, too... stupid destroyers... stupid _pilots_ , getting shot down... grmbgrml..."

Sidestepping a speeding bomb, Reno eyed the fighters dueling their Abyssal counterparts far in the distance. One reason she was so far out was the exact fact that the Abyssals had largely occupied American fighters; her position allowed her to interdict the incoming bombers before they got anywhere near even the outer ring of escorts, and she was more survivable than a destroyer against anything that might attack her.

It was also the direction the American bombers had come.

Hmm...

Reno turned the plan over in her mind. It was risky... it would require the utmost accuracy... and she was very confident in her accuracy. Nodding, she mentally committed herself, and returned to her work, waiting for the American bombers to overfly her on the way back to their carriers.

She didn't have to wait long. An Avenger was the first, followed shortly by a steady stream of more Avengers, Helldivers, Dauntlesses, and an even dozen of Skyraiders. Her target was soon selected: a Helldiver towards the rear of the pack with a sputtering engine and oil and smoke leaking out of the fuselage. More importantly, there were a bunch of Abyssal fighters breaking for the bombers, which gave her a good excuse to shoot in that direction.

Slowly, carefully, even as her remaining 5" turrets aimed for the Abyssals, one of the turrets swung towards the Helldiver. Closing one eye, Reno held up a thumb and fired.

The shell soared up and, milliseconds before sailing past, detonated its time fuze. Only one fragment hit the plane.

With the already-accumulated damage, that fragment was enough. With a cry of "Heeeeeeeyyyyy!", the fairy-piloted plane went down into the water. Putting on a burst of speed, Reno sped towards where the plane splashed in the water, visions of chocolate and butterscotch and cookie dough dancing in her head.

~o~

Hornet - the Yorktown, not the Essex - smiled in relief as she loaded up her downed fairy aviators. On the one hand, they regenerated with their planes, but on the other, not only did the new ones lose valuable veterancy, but all carriers tended to get attached to the little buggers and their unique quirks; Hornet was no exception in that regard.

This time, she mostly had fighter pilots, muttering about Abyssal fighters and their sixes. Her Avenger crews had gotten out... mostly unscathed, though one was currently collectively sobbing over their trashed torpedo bomber, and only one Helldiver crew had been shot down before getting picked up by Reno. She shook her head. Cruisers picking up pilots just seemed... wrong, somehow.

"Hey!"

The rear gunner of said Helldiver promptly caught her attention, because she couldn't have heard that right. "Could you repeat that?"

"Hey! Hey hey hey!"

Suddenly aware she was gaping, Hornet closed her mouth, set her teeth, and stalked off to find Reno. That bitch had shot down her plane for ice cream! No way she was going to let that stand!

The cruiser wasn't hard to find. In fact, she was just leaving the base's ice cream parlor when Hornet arrived in high dudgeon, and just in time for the two to smack together. Or rather, just in time for Reno's ice cream to collide with Hornet's chest.

"Hey, what's the big idea... you..." Reno trailed off as she took in Hornet's expression. "That... was your Helldiver, wasn't it?"

"Yup."

And with that, Hornet's forehead met the top of Reno's skull with a sound not unlike a church bell ringing.


	134. Rule 2446

**Rule 2446. If attempting to recruit/bribe Abyssals with repairs, construction and/or drydock time, check with your superior officers and shipyard facilities** ** _first_** **. "It's better to ask forgiveness than permission" doesn't work for ten-thousand-ton-plus surprises.**

HMS Trinidad balefully eyed the damaged Ne-class heavy cruiser erratically steaming through the North Atlantic roughly in the direction of Ireland. Many of her instincts screamed at her to take the opportunity to kill it; her conscious mind, joined by her survival instincts, pointed out that a damaged flagship Ne-class was still a flagship Ne-class, and its guns were still intact. Put simply, this was not a fight she was likely to win.

Problem is, that still left the Abyssal on course for Ireland, and this _after_ the Channel Fleet had gotten itself sandwiched between the Channel Princess _and_ the Submarine Empress. Only Revenge doing her thing had kept it at the level of "Embarrassing asskicking" rather than "utter massacre", but that still left the Home Fleet overstretched covering the Channel Fleet's responsibilities while they recovered. And that meant she was the only shipgirl between this Abyssal and Ireland. Lovely.

Sighing, she steeled herself. Maybe she could actually walk away from this! But before she could reveal herself, a thought occurred to her. A thought of the force of Allied Abyssals currently scaring the living daylights out of their hostile brethren in the Pacific. This Abyssal was not only damaged, she was highly experienced, which was something of a rarity here in the Atlantic, and from what she'd read, that helped in getting defections. And she knew for a fact that the Portsmouth docks were clearing up. Just not fast enough to be of any help to her if this turned into a fight.

Mind made up, Trinidad set herself on a forward heading at twenty knots and fired one of her 4" guns into the air. The sound echoed off the sea, and the Abyssal cruiser immediately whirled around, guns aiming at her.

"Ah, you don't need to do that," Trinidad stated, her voice only betraying a little nervousness. "I'm not here to fight." To reinforce that point, she raised her hands up, palms out. "See?"

The Ne-class didn't relax, but she also didn't fire, which Trinidad counted as a win. [Then what _do_ you want?] the heavy cruiser growled.

"Merely to make you an offer," the British cruiser replied. "You're damaged, obviously-" A growl from the Abyssal. "And in return for offering you time at our own repair docks, why don't you fight for us instead of the Abyss?"

[And why would I do that?]

"Well, how about being actually valued instead of just an expendable cog in a hopeless war?" Nothing. No wavering. Trinidad mentally brought her trump card to the fore. "And we have cake."

That did it. The Ne-class twitched, her eyes widening. [C-Cake?]

Trinidad nodded. "Cake. Lots of it. And donuts, and chocolate, and puddings, and tea."

[Where do I go?]

Outwardly, Trinidad showed no reaction. Inwardly, she smiled. "Follow me. I'll get you into Scapa."

~o~

HMS Repair's eye twitched once, twice. So did King George V's, and Admiral Collingwood's. Trinidad was as stoic as ever, but if you looked closely you could see a sheen of sweat on her face and her fingers playing with a half-pound coin. And in one of the repair baths sat the Ne, her armor removed, guns drawn into her belly, and a blissful expression on her face.

Finally, Repair broke the silence. "Explain this bullshit!" she demanded, sweeping her arm at the blissed-out Abyssal.

"I got her to defect?" Trinidad stated, mentally cursing her hesitance.

Thankfully, Admiral Collingwood and King George V switched from furious to thoughtful at that. Repair did not.

"And you didn't think to _warn_ me that I had an Abyssal sitting in my docks?!" she demanded. "Or better, ask _permission_?"

"Would you have said no?"

"Not. The point!"

"Repair."

Admiral Collingwood's voice cut through the tension like Thunder Child's sword. "Is this Abyssal a danger to this base?" he asked bluntly.

That brought Repair up short. "Uh, er, no?" the repair ship answered. "Her armaments are stowed, and her armor is heavily reduced. Plus..." She glanced over at the pile of dishes sitting next to the bath. "I think if we keep plying her with food she won't cause any trouble."

"Good," Collingwood nodded, as did King George V, before the latter reached out and snagged Trinidad's collar.

"Oh no you don't," she said. "You're not getting off that easily. This worked out well, but it just as easily could have been disastrous."

Trinidad's only response was to whimper fearfully.


	135. Rule 2447

**Rule 2447: Enterprise stop walking around on fire you freaking everyone out.**

Enterprise and Yamato stared up at the Beverly Hills-style McMansion in front of them, their combined glares sufficient to reduce the building to a greasy smear had they been able to do so. After a moment, Yamato spoke first.

"I still think you should have-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Enterprise interrupted, not breaking her gaze. "Pregnant or not, if you think I'm gonna just sit at home while you retrieve our daughter from these ninjas, you've got another thing coming."

Yamato sighed. Yeah, that'd been about what she expected. "Just... please be careful, alright?"

*clink*

*FWOOSH!*

"Don't worry, they're not even gonna touch me."

This time, Yamato whirled around to see Enterprise on fire. Her first instinct was to panic, but the carrier's expression hadn't shifted on iota and there was a lighter in her right hand that indicated she'd lit _herself_ on fire.

"E..." the battleship said in strained voice. "Why are you on fire? No, wait, why did you light _yourself_ on fire?"

"Because," Enterprise said, tapping her head as she turned a knowing smirk on her partner. "The ninjas can't grab me if I'm on fire."

Yamato said nothing to that. There was nothing _to_ say to that. Her mouth worked open and shut, she raised a finger and then lowered it, and finally she just threw up her hands and wordlessly marched through the McMansion's gate.

"Yamato? Honey? Hey, what's wrong?"

Whirling around, Yamato pinned her partner with a vicious glare, one that stopped the carrier right in her tracks. "We will talk about this later," Yamato growled. "In the meantime I, Yamato, would like to get my daughter back."

"Y-Yeah, sure," Enterprise stammered.

The poor ninjas never stood a chance.

~o~

Yorktown scanned over the mess, her tray piled high with food. A waving hand drew her attention to her sister Hornet, and as she got closer she noticed Enterprise slumped on the table with a black cloud of depression hanging over her head.

"What's got her in a funk?" she asked. "And come to think of it, shouldn't she be sitting next to Yamato?"

The black cloud shuddered and grew larger, a piteous whine sounding out from between E's arms.

"Trouble in paradise, as you might have guessed," Hornet replied, patting her sister on the back. "I don't know what E did, and she's not telling me, but she did _something_ to get Yamato steaming mad at her. She's been sleeping on the couch for the past three days."

Another piteous whine sounded from Enterprise. And at that point, Yorktown decided that that was enough sulking on her little sister's part.

"Alright, I'm invoking big sister privileges!" she declared in between bites. "What the hell did you do?"

That finally served to bring Enterprise... somewhat out of her funk. Raising her head, she wailed, "I don't know! All I did was light myself on fire while we were rescuing Yoshino from ninjas!"

Ignoring - with some difficulty - the whole ninja thing, Yorktown and Hornet focused on the whole "light myself on fire" thing.

"Why... would you do that?" Hornet quietly demanded, her mouth hanging open and one eye twitching. Across the table, Yorktown was cradling her head in her hands.

"Because then the ninjas couldn't grab me," Enterprise explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a lighter. "Here, I can show-"

"Nononononono!" the other Yorktown sisters immediately shouted, waving their hands. The flame paused, inches from Enterprise - and then the carrier was suddenly engulfed in what everyone watching recognized as firefighting foam.

"You..." Oriskany growled from behind the now befoamed Enterprise. "Stupid... Inconsiderate... That's it!" Stomping onto the table, Oriskany made her declaration to the entire mess. "I am officially announcing six weeks of fire safety training! For _everyone!_ And then a six-month residency with the San Diego fire department! Maybe _that_ will get you hotheads to consider fire safety!"

"You're outta line!" Phoenix roared.

Before Oriskany could respond to that, someone grabbed her ankle and sent her sprawling onto the table. "Hey, who did that?!" she demanded, and promptly paled as she saw Wright looming over her, several quivering destroyers huddling behind her.

"I'm afraid that's _not_ going to be happening," the secretary ship informed Oriskany. "And I should mention that all the base TVs were playing Man from LOX on their screens. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Mommy..." Oriskany squeaked.

"Sorry." Wright leaned in close, grinning ear to ear. "There's just me."

Ignoring the screaming, Yorktown and Hornet finished excavating Enterprise's face from the foam. "Alright, here's how this is going to go," Yorktown said. "You're going to go apologize to Yamato for lighting yourself on fire, you're going to promise never to do it again, and then you're going to _keep_ that promise. Okay?"

"But I still don't know what I did wrong!" Enterprise whined.

"Just... Just follow those instructions and you'll be fine," Hornet grit out. "We'll explain... later."

 **AN: For anyone looking up Man from LOX, don't click on any videos, unless you want to see what a liquid oxygen fire does to a person.**


	136. Rule 2453

**Rule 2453. No, you can't blindfold Willie and enter her into marksmanship competitions.**

For the third year in a row, the battleships of the United States were gathered for the annual gunnery competition. In particular, Iowa, Louisiana, and Massachusetts were gunning for West Virginia's threepeat crown. They'd practiced, they'd trained, they'd bullied Medusa into fine-tuning their fire control equipment. They were ready.

And this time, gathered among the battleships were several heavy cruisers: Salt Lake City, Canberra, Vincennes, the Des Moines sisters, others. For the most part, the battleships quietly ignored them; no mere heavy cruiser could best a battleship's accuracy!

It was barely five minutes before they were to begin, Midway busily setting up the targets, when the most unexpected contestant arrived.

"Nikki, where are we?"

"You'll see, Willie, you'll see!"

Massachusetts raised an eyebrow as Nicholas and Willie D. steamed up to them, the former leading the blindfolded latter. "And what are you two doing here?"

"Oh, I'm here to enter Willie into the competition!" Nicholas chirped.

"Wait, what?!" Willie yelped.

"I'm with the tin can, what the hell?!" Iowa shouted. "Why would we let _her_ compete?!"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?!" Willie demanded, whirling on the battleship, who flinched back.

"Er, ah, n-nothing! Nothing at all!"

"Oh no you don't! Nikki, I'm staying in this competition. Someone has to knock these battlewagons down a peg!"

"I really don't see the point of this," West Virginia cut in. "You guns can't even reach our maximum _effective_ range."

"Oh, let her in," Louisiana said indulgently. "There's more to this competition than just distance. I seem to remember you doing somewhat poorly at intermediate ranges last year, hmm? At least, compared to your usual lofty standards."

"I keep telling you, that was a fluke."

"You keep telling yourself that," Massachusetts deadpanned.

As the quartet of battleships descended back into bickering (albeit without much enthusiasm on Iowa's part), Midway placed the last of the targets, simple water drones holding up big plastic bullseyes that were programmed on a simple zig-zag course.

"Alright, targets are set up!" Midway declared. "Go ahead and start!"

Almost immediately, Massachusetts, Louisiana, and West Virginia fell on each other, biting, kicking, scratching, and overall not shooting anything. Iowa ignored the scrap and fired downrange, but her heart clearly wasn't in it, the salvo going quite far of the target. Seeing this, the rest of the battleships fired gustily, though with perhaps too much enthusiasm. Many of their shots went wide as well. In the end, it was largely the heavy cruisers that were laying down accurate fire.

And then there was Willie D.

"Let's do this!" she declared, aiming her guns at-

"Ah, Willie? Targets are in the _other_ direction," Nicholas interjected.

Freezing, Willie slowly turned around and sighed. "I still don't get why you want me to do this blindfolded."

"Just confirming a theory," Nicholas replied. "Now get shooting!"

And so Willie did. The results were... spectacular. Every shooter came to a screeching halt as Willie _danced_ , unloading her guns at the targets.

And every. Single. Shell. Hit. No matter how impossible shell dispersion should have made that feat. 5000 yards. 10,000. _15,000_. It was at that range that accuracy began to drop off, and her shells proved unable to reach past 18,000 yards. Every target _below_ that, though, was splattered with practice paint.

"How'd I do?" Willie asked as she pulled up the blindfold. One look at the targets, and her jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"

The collective gaping continued for a few seconds longer before the ongoing brawl shook everyone out of it to resume shooting. Well, everyone except the trio still trying to shred each other.

~o~

West Virginia, Massachusetts, and Louisiana, their bruises and scratches all bandaged up, collectively gaped at the standings for the shooting competition. It was awful. It was impossible! But you couldn't make this shit up!

"I'm in first. As expected," Salem commented.

"Second, good," Willie D. sighed. "My ice cream is safe."

"THIS IS MY FIRST TIME IN THIRD PLACE!" South Dakota cried happily.

Indeed, the trio were sitting comfortably at the top of the standings. And there, right at the bottom of the standings with big fat zeroes, was the trio.

"How..." West Virginia breathed in numb disbelief.

 _"South Dakota_ got third?" Massachusetts said, one eye twitching.

"What were the _rest_ of you doing?!" Louisiana demanded.

Said "rest of you" were currently looking anywhere but the banged-up trio, except the Iowa sisters, who were busy trying to coax their lead ship out of the chandelier. Finally, California spoke up, though not before indicating Willie D.

"Dude, did you _see that?!"_ she demanded. "How were we supposed to focus after that?!"

"I managed," Salem spoke up.

"So did I!" As did South Dakota.


	137. Rule 2460

**Rule 2460: Dead sharks are not ammunition.  
**  
"DIE!"

BOOM!

"DIE!"

BOOM!

 _"Diiiiiiie!"  
_  
Indianapolis grinned a savage grin as she continued to decimate the local shark population. Out here in the Southeast Pacific, that was mostly oceanic whitetips, driven to near-starvation in this oceanic desert. Of all the shark species, nobody really cared about this one; they were so damn numerous that even Indy's rampages were barely making a dent in the population. More importantly, it was _these_ sharks that were the ones that went after shipwrecked sailors. And after months spinning her wheels with the damn solution staring her in the face, Indianapolis had no shortage of dark rage to expend on the poor beasts.

Of course, there was one slight problem with going shark-hunting this far out, one that announced herself once Indianapolis stopped hurling depth charges in favor of leaning on her knees, panting.

[Well, well, well.]

Indianapolis blinked at the clapping sounding out over the water, and stood up to find a Heavy Cruiser Princess in sight and clapping smugly. A pit promptly formed in her stomach.

[Well done. Those oh-so-dangerous sharks are gone,] the Abyssal said in a mocking tone, before aiming her guns at Indianapolis. [And that just leaves _me_ , and you without your big guns.]

Indeed, Indy had left her 8" turrets behind to equip the depth charge launchers she needed to properly go shark-hunting, a fact that thrust itself to the forefront of her mind and refused to go away. Slowly, Indianapolis ran through her options. Even with her guns, tackling a Heavy Cruiser Princess solo would've been a suicidal endeavor. And running wouldn't help; the Abyssal was just as fast and would simply riddle her with holes in a chase. At least, if she allowed it a clean shot.

In one fluid motion, the American reached down, grabbed one of the dead sharks, and then hurled it at the Abyssal before fleeing. A wet slap and the sound of muffled cursing told her that her gambit had worked; getting bracketed by 8" shells told her that it hadn't worked perfectly, and she began prescribing a zig-zag course.

[You stupid little shipslut!] she heard the Abyssal shout her direction. [I was gonna kill you quickly, but maybe I'll throw you to the capture units first and make you _beg_ for death!]

It took a moment for Indianapolis to recall what the capture units were. When she did remember, she ordered her engineering fairies to overload her turbines, and damn the consequences! She'd seen enough hentai to know what _that_ meant!

Unfortunately, if she had been counting on speed, evasion, and the Abyssal's own rage to throw her opponent's aim off, she was sorely disappointing. Every salvo was closer and tighter, and clearly it was only a matter of time before one of them rang home. She needed to do something drastic.

A triangular fin breached the surface a hundred yards off her port bow.

That'd do. Steering out of the way of another salvo, Indianapolis dipped low and plucked another oceanic whitetip out of the water, presumably off to scavenge on its recently murdered brethren. Spinning, the heavy cruiser cut her engines and hurled the shark as hard as she could before turning back around again and hitting her engines back to overload. Once again, she was rewarded by a wet slap, but this time also by a screech of panic, followed shortly by bone grinding over metal. She didn't look back. She just put on more speed.

And then an 8" shell obliterated her ankle. Indianapolis went down with a cry of pain, skidding through a cresting swell, and stayed there, clutching the stump where her foot used to be. Still, she tried to crawl away, knowing that the Abyssal wouldn't be satisfied with just that. Unfortunately, she didn't get very far before a shadow fell over her, and she glanced up to see the Heavy Cruiser Princess looming over, bite marks dotting her furious expression.

[Forget throwing you to the capture units,] she growled. [I am going to cut you to pieces, inch by inch, salt by salt. I will take you to the edge of death, and keep you there, no matter how much you beg. Your-]

BOOM! BOOM! B-B-B-BOOM!

Indy winced as several large explosions wafted over her. As soon as they ended, she rolled over, the body of the Heavy Cruiser Princess falling face-first into the water where she'd been a second before. Slowly, she peeked upward, seeing a cigar-shaped form rapidly descending towards her. Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That was one of the airship girls. The airship girls that had nearly killed Chester basically unprovoked and gotten involved in the Canadian Clusterfuck Mk. XIV. Yanking out one of the Heavy Cruiser Princess' guns as a makeshift cane, Indianapolis hauled herself up and waited.

Soon enough, the airship girl landed just above the water, close enough that Indianapolis could make out distinctly Italian features, in particular long, wavy black hair gathered into two pigtails. A cloying stench of oranges hit Indianapolis' nose, and from the somewhat vacant expression on her face the airship probably didn't even notice how strong it was.

"Hi!" the airship announced. "My name's Vernazza, what's yours?"

"Indianapolis," the heavy cruiser answered cautiously. "Thanks for saving me."

"Hey, no problem, I was passing through anyway!" Vernazza chirped, and somehow Indy felt herself actually liking the airship girl. "Though, uh, what was I doing all the way out here?" With that, she fell into a rather adorable pout, tapping her chin and pursing her lips.

In fact, overdose of orange fragrance aside, the airship was surprisingly adorable. Small of body and lightly built, ditzy in appearance and manner. Indy could just picture her among San Diego's destroyers overdoing some sort of perfume just to be "mature".

"Well, I'm sure you'll remember it," the heavy cruiser said. "If you don't mind, I need to get back home. This-" She indicated her stump of a leg. "Isn't going to fix itself."

Vernazza made a distracted noise that Indianapolis took as permission to bolt. Adorable or not, this was still an airship girl, of the type that had demolished Chester quite handily. Not to mention that that Heavy Cruiser Princess wasn't dead yet. No way was she getting between those two when the latter finally woke up and took exception to the Abyssal's existence.


	138. Rule 2461

**Rule** **2461: Man-O-War ships are not Ammo.**

It was not often that Portsmouth sortied its entire battle fleet, five Rs and two QEs. The Home Fleet tended to ravage anything going after the convoys, and the North Sea was a NATO lake, with the result that Abyssals rarely ventured near the Channel Fleet. Hell, the only reason Revenge had as much experience as she did was that Abyssals ventured into the Irish Sea with some consistency and she was first in line to tackle them.

"Where th' hell is dat battleship?"

Which is why she was standing, annoyed, at the head of the Channel Fleet's battleships, waiting for either Barham or the Abyssals charging up the Channel to get there first.

"I mean, she's th'one who wanted t'be here even wit' half her fuckin' guns gone!" Revenge continued, throwing up her hands. "So dere's no excuse for bein' late!"

"She said that she had a replacement," Malaya chimed in. "And had to go get it."

Revenge descended into incoherent grumbling at that, Resolution steaming up to pat her sister on the shoulder. The remaining Rs pointedly focused out to sea, where the Abyssals were supposed to come from, joined by the mishmash of destroyers that had been thrown together to screen them.

Finally, everyone heard the sound of a ship slicing towards them, and they turned around to see Barham steam up to them, two wriggling figures wrapped up in sackcloth hanging over her shoulders.

"Hey, everyone, sorry I'm late!" she announced, shifting her grip on the sacks. "I just needed to grab some actual firepower!"

"Jus' get in line..." Revenge groaned.

With Barham there, the battleships formed up in line ahead, the destroyers taking their own positions, and none too soon, for the Abyssals were cresting the horizon as they finally finished getting into formation. Immediately, said Abyssals opened fire, prompting the British line to surge forward to close the range. As they did so, Barham grinned and, with a tug, ripped the sackcloth off one of the things she was carrying.

"Spiders! All the spiders!" Indefatigable shouted. "In your pillow! Between your sheets! _In your shampoo bottle! I WILL ASK AUSTRALIA FOR SAMPLES!"  
_  
"Oh, hush," Barham said, grabbing the frigate by her belt and winding up her arm. "Try to survive, okay?"

"Barham, don't you fucking-"

And with that, the battleship hurled Indefatigable like a javelin.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAARE-!"

The rest of the British battleships only had one reaction to the move.

"What."

It was a reaction Barham ignored in favor of watching Indefatigable's flight, right until the frigate touched down in the water among the Abyssal formation. "Yes!" she crowed, pumping her fist as the Abyssal formation descended into chaos. "It works!" She reached up and ripped the sackcloth off the other figure draped over her shoulder, revealing HMS Victory, all dignity gone in favor of icy fury.

"Barham," she said. "For your sake, you had better not throw-"

"Not listening!" Barham chirped, tossing Victory after Indefatigable.

"MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-!"

Once again, Barham watched Victory's arc through the air until she, too, splashed into the water. If anything, the disruption was even _greater_ this time.

"I knew it would work," Barham smugly stated. That done, she glanced over to her fellow battleships, taking in their gape-mouthed, bug-eyed expressions. "What?"

That broke the spell, and Malaya just shook her head. "Victory is going to murder you in your sleep and then Indefatigable is going to desecrate the body," she muttered.

"Yeah, well, not unless they- OPEN FIRE!"

The battleships jumped, startled, and instinctively fired their guns downrange. 15" shells screamed in, not only obliterating a pair of Abyssals but also spraying Victory and Indefatigable with water. If you really listened hard, or like the destroyers you had sonar, you could hear some very creative cursing coming from the two wooden hulls. Several of the tin cans were making notes.

"Forget Victory," Royal Sovereign growled as she opened up properly aimed fire. _"I'm_ going to murder you in your sleep, Barham."

"Dat b'fore or afta I pop a few caps in her ass?" Revenge wondered, also opening fire again.

"You guys are mean!" Barham whined.

~o~

Barham snorted in her sleep and rolled over - and right off of her bed. She crashed into the floor with a startled yelp, and then crashed _through_ the floor as the rotten boards gave way, dumping her onto a hard, unforgiving surface. For a moment, the room was still, and then a hand shot up and grasped the floorboards, Barham following back onto the room's floor.

"What the hell...?" she muttered, glancing around. The only way the room could be described was "dilapidated": the wallpaper was peeling off wherever it wasn't gone entirely to expose rotten drywall and battered wood. A sad, doorless closet exposed wooden frames and a battered dresser topped with a cracked mirror sat next to each other on the far side. There were no windows, and one closed door. The only thing even remotely close to new were herself and her bed. Speaking of which...

Barham glared down at her outfit, a black mesh t-shirt that was partially translucent and plain white panties. "Had to happen the night I got this," she muttered, poking at the shirt.

Still, she had bigger issues than her state of undress. Namely, how the hell she'd gotten here and who was responsible. The only thing she could think of was-

"Aw, c'mon, can't anyone take a joke?" she groaned. Well, if this was revenge for her stunt in the channel the day before, best to spring it and get the whole mess over with. And to do that, she'd have to leave the room. She padded over to the door, and turned the knob, the door swinging open on squealing hinges.

The hall outside was just as dark and dilapidated as the room Barham had just exited, only her own supernatural nature allowing her to see. Here in the hall, a low breeze whistled through the house and shook the timbers, drawing out a shuddering groan. It also kicked up a smell, the musty smell of rotten wood and mothballs with just a faint hint of death.

Slowly, Barham padded out and then down the hell. Part of her was tempted to simply go crashing through the walls; a smarter part of her pointed out that a. she didn't know which direction to go and b. that would invite later, more severe retaliation. So she continued on.

A creak sounded out. Broken glass crunched. Barham whirled around and caught a glimpse of a grossly distended face and a white gown before a blink sent the specter a-vanishing.

"Oh, this gonna _suck..."_ the battleship groaned.

~o~

A plank fell to the floor and shattered into splinters. Barham shrieked and whirled around, finding nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned around - and locked eyes with a mane of brown hair hanging from the ceiling with two piercing eyes staring into her soul. Gulping, the battleship screamed and did bravely run away in the other direction.

~o~

With her arms shivering as they were, it took a second for Barham to flick the light switch. Amazingly, the lights turned on, bathing the kitchen in light. It also bathed another white-clad figure standing right in the middle of the room, twitching in unnatural ways. The lights were hastily turned off, and Barham marched herself in the other direction.

~o~

"NOW WHERE AM I?!"

~o~

"IYAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

~o~

The sun rose over the moors of Dorsetshire, and over the battered shingles of an abandoned country house. Deep inside the building, in a hidden, insulated room festooned with computer monitors, HMS Indefatigable tapped her headset and said, "Alright, sun's up, girls. Time to call it in."

 _"And how does Barham look?"_ she heard Ramillies ask.

Moving her eyes away from the shipgirls removing their costumes, Indefatigable quickly found Barham. She'd retreated to the room she'd started in, and had curled up on her bed with her thumb in her mouth.

"We... might have overdone it a little," the frigate sheepishly admitted.

 _"Define 'overdone it',"_ Victory said.

"Well, she's lying on her bed in a fetal position sucking on her thumb."

Silence over the comms.

 _"Admiral Graham's gonna kill us,"_ Resolution groaned. _"And that's if Malaya doesn't get us first."_


	139. Rule 2468

**Rule 2468. Enterprise is not allowed to go to the mess while on fire.**

"Ugh... so hungry..."

Enterprise clutched her stomach as she staggered down the docks of San Diego, freshly returned from a long sortie. The stomach that was, from the feeling, attempting to consume her own keel. With such hunger, nothing mattered besides getting to the mess as soon as she could.

To her escorts, Birmingham, Santa Fe, and a gaggle of destroyers, the mess was the furthest thing on their minds. Despite the best efforts of both their firefighting equipment and Enterprise's own fairies, the carrier was still on fire from a bomb hit. Granted, it was a contained fire, but she was still, y'know, _on fire_. And after the last incident in the mess nobody wanted to see the reaction of her sisters, her wife, or Oriskany if she ended up there on fire again.

On the other hand...

"Someone's gotta stop her!" Santa Fe declared.

Birmingham caught herself mid-nod and turned an incredulous stare on the light cruiser. "I don't see you volunteering," she pointed out.

"Do _you_ want to try and stop her?" Santa Fe fired back.

It took a moment, but Birmingham decided that no, she didn't want to try and stop Enterprise. Not only was it _fucking Enterprise_ , but she'd been near enough burning carriers for a lifetime, thank you very much.

"So we tell Yorktown and the others that we tried to stop her and failed?" she suggested.

"That's the idea, but we're missing any scorch marks."

"I can help with that!"

Both cruisers turned to the destroyer Ault, who was holding up some firecrackers with a mad grin on her face. Santa Fe nodded.

"That'll do."

"Let me just register my objections to this plan before I get this over with..." Birmingham sighed.

~o~

Now suitably scorched, the two cruisers entered the mess to find Enterprise messily devouring the usual mountain of food, and Yorktown, Hornet, and Yamato all glaring daggers their direction. No, wait, the _door's_ direction, they both realized about one second after flinching and giving away the game.

"Oh, this is gonna _suck_..." Birmingham groaned as the trio stood and marched their direction.

In seconds, all three were looming over the significantly shorter cruisers, their expressions thunderous and edging towards volcanic.

"Why..." Yorktown growled.

"Is E..." Yamato picked up.

"On fire..." Hornet finished.

"AGAIN?!"

Confronted with three super-scary capital ships, Santa Fe began babbling. "W-Well, we were out on sortie for, like, days and Enterprise blocked a bomb with her face and-"

"WHAT."

"And we tried to stop her from getting here but water wasn't putting it out and we were all out of foam and she wouldn't stop!" Birmingham hastily cut in.

Yorktown, Hornet, and Yamato eyed the two for several more pants-wetting seconds before their features softened.

"Well, it seems you did everything you could," Yorktown said. "And we'd heard rumors about new Abyssal incendiaries. It'd explain why the fire's _blue_..."

"Go get your meal, alright?" Yamato added. "We'll sort this out."

The cruisers couldn't run fast enough.


	140. Rule 2471

**Rule 2471. Although we don't mind shipgirls taking pictures of fellow shipgirls, using pictures of themselves in a revealing position for blackmail isn't allowed.**

Paper crumpled under Oriskany's grip, the newsletter stoking a fire long since banked back to life. Enterprise. Fire. _Again_. It didn't matter that it was enemy action this time, the carrier's blatant disregard for fire safety could not be tolerated.

It was time to break out the big guns.

Pulling out her phone, Oriskany dialed a number she kept reserved for this sort of emergency. It picked up after two rings. "Tusk? ... Yeah, it's me, Oriskany. ... Yes, it's time. Your target is Enterprise. ... Yes, I'll give you a bonus if you pull this off, I'm not made of stone. What do you want?" The submarine told her, and Oriskany winced. "Mrgh... alright, fine. It'll take some time, though. ... Alright, excellent."

A tap of a button, and the phone was returned to her pocket. Soon, Enterprise would know not to anger Oriskany!

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH- *ahem*." The carrier coughed into her fist, aborting the evil laugh she'd adopted. No, no, can't show that just yet. Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out again to find that she had a training session with the other carriers of her task group. A malevolent grin split her face. That'd do.

~o~

It was two days later that Tusk finally got back to her in the form of an envelope stuffed under her door. Inside was a USB storage drive and a handwritten note that read _"You owe me big time!"_ Oriskany winced; submarines _always_ collected their favors, and that invariably ended with the shipgirl in question getting covered in tree sap. Why? No one knew. At least three statisticians had committed suicide before research into the phenomenon was stopped.

Anyway, Oriskany quickly pulled out her laptop and plugged in the USB stick. There was only one file inside, though it was a massive one that took up most of the space on the drive, and was titled "There's still more I couldn't fit." Curious, the carrier opened it up, and then her face caught fire.

Well, not literally, but it sure felt like it. The file held pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. Lots and lots of pictures that, from what she could see of the thumbnails were of Enterprise in various compromising positions and even more states of dress, most of them scanty when the carrier wasn't straight-up nude. Despite herself, she clicked on one of the pictures. Yup. Scanty as hell. What was that slip made of, _clouds?_ Oriskany clicked the next picture, which was even _more_ scanty. It didn't cover anything! Or, at least, nothing that mattered.

Two hours later, Oriskany automatically slipped her skirt back on, her mind a blissful haze. A blissful haze she hastily shook away. No! She was here to solve the Enterprise problem, not... satisfy her urges!

That was for _after_.

Now suitably motivated, she selected a specific picture and pulled up her web browser, heading over to imgur. Next up would be her email, and then she could get back to the rest of the album, which she'd barely scratched the surface of.

 _'Oh, I'm going to be busy tonight...'_

~o~

Enterprise took a sip of her coffee, fingers tap-tapping away at her laptop and eyes scanning down the email page. Unlike certain people she could mention, the carrier believed in aggressively clearing her inbox and not leaving 20,000 unread emails sitting there. Yes, she'd seen that. No, she wasn't naming names. She'd signed an NDA, after all.

Finally, with as much of the spam cleared and de-listed as she could manage, she scanned over the remainder. A letter from Wasp, a challenge for a competition from Zuikaku, several missives from command, and-

Enterprise frowned. Oriskany. Probably yelling at her over the whole fire thing. Again. Seriously, she knew what she was doing! Why was everyone so upset by that?! Clicking the email, she began to prepare a profanity-laden reply, only to have that die in her throat at the actual email. No lecture was in sight, just a terse "Continue, and the rest get released", with an imgur link right below. Frowning, she clicked the link, and recoiled at the picture loaded up on her page. She knew that picture. She remembered Yamato _taking_ that picture. What the _fuck_ was it doing released on the Internet for the wide world to see?!

Standing, Enterprise grabbed her laptop and bolted out the door. She needed to talk to Wisconsin. Yesterday.

~o~

Roanoke's boot met Oriskany's door. The door lost. The light cruiser swept into the suite the carrier occupied, Worcester right behind her.

"Come out, Oriskany!" her older sister shouted. She got no response. As such, the two of them marched over to Oriskany's bedroom door and threw it open.

Immediately they were assaulted by a powerful odor. As both of them had had several boyfriends since being summoned, both recognized the smell, and sure enough, passed out naked on her bed was Oriskany, her laptop discarded on the floor at just the right angle to show the pictures they were here for.

"This is just..." Roanoke threw up her hands. "What the hell! Cognitive dissonance here!"

"Eh, with a few exceptions all the hardasses are like this," Worcester remarked as she picked up the laptop. "Oriskany, obviously, is not one of those exceptions. Cuff her, just in case, but I think she'll still be here when the Coasties come by."

"She'd better..."


	141. Rule 2473

**Rule 2473. If a shipgirl is craving an odd food, don't automatically assume that she is pregnant.**

The night found Kongo and Goto lying together in bed, exhausted but happy after a period of lovemaking that could only be described as "vanilla". After all, it was always nice to have a change of pace.

This companionable silence continued until Kongo spoke up. "Y'know what I'm craving right now, honey?" she said.

"No, what?"

"Chocolate-covered fried pickles," was the answer. "With peanut butter and miso soup. So weird..."

The battleship promptly fell into sleep after that, leaving Goto to sweat next to her. That combination could mean only one thing! One thing that could wait until morning.

~o~

The next morning saw Hoppo sweep downstairs in the suite she shared with Nagato, arms held out at her side and airplane noises coming from under her collar. Once she reached the ground floor, she plucked her Reppu model off the shelf she'd left it on and marched into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Hoppo-chan!" Nagato chirped from where she was frying up some eggs. "What would you like for breakfast?"

As Hoppo-chan plopped herself down in a chair, she hummed in thought. [Hmm... maybe natto over rice? Something simple.]

Oddly, that just made Nagato stare at the young-looking Abyssal like she'd just sprouted a second head. "But you hate natto," she said weakly.

That prompted Hoppo to grimace. [Oh, right, forgot. Then maybe just an omurice?]

Instead of starting up the omurice, or doing anything productive, really, Nagato instead grabbed Hoppo by her shoulders and began tearfully shaking her.

"Who did this to you?!" Nagato screamed. "Who could be vile enough to defile such a pure existence?!"

[IIIIIII dooooon't knooooow whaaaaaaat yoooooooou're taaaaaalkiiiing aboooooout...] Hoppo moaned as her head shook back and forth.

"Even worse!" Nagato wailed, and yes, it was now wailing that would have made a humpback jealous. "Corrupted in all ways possible!" Suddenly, the shaking stopped, but before Hoppo could get her wits back, Nagato slung her underarm like a log and took off. "I can save you from this, at least! Don't worry, Hoppo-chan, this won't take long!"

[Well, this is a fine mess...]

~o~

Mornings for the Yuubari twins usually started with one waking up the other at their desk. And so it was today, Yuubari groaning awake to find Yuubari grinning sunnily at her.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Yuubari chirped.

"What's so good about it?" Yuubari grumbled, only reluctantly sitting up.

"Well, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful day, and I've just got a good feeling about things," Yuubari answered. "Also, I have coffee."

"GIMME."

Giggling lightly as her twin practically dove for the coffeepot, Yuubari moved to the small, improvised kitchenette in their lab and retrieved a homemade frying pan. "Want any breakfast with that?" she asked.

"Mphrgl..." Yuubari answered, before swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "Yeah, whatever we have. Though I could seriously go for some phosphorus right now."

CLATTER!

She turned to her twin, who had just dropped the frying pan and was gaping open-mouthed at her.

"What's with you?" she muttered.

The gaping mouth promptly morphed into a demented grin, one that sent chills down Yuubari's spine, because she knew this grin. The both of them had worn that grin many, many times.

Now she knew why destroyers went running every time they made it.

"Oh, excellent..." Yuubari purred. "Now I have a proper test subject with which to observe the _entire_ process. Now, just hold still..."

~o~

Today was a beautiful day, Akashi decided. It was sunny and warm, a downturn in the operational tempo meant that she only needed to work a half day, and the coffee was extra good this morning. Her spirits high, she threw open the doors to her workshop.

Both Yuubaris froze at her entrance, one startled and one pleadingly hopeful. The latter was, in turn, strapped to the _pregnancy monitoring equipment_ the two had built a while back. Akashi sighed, feeling her hopes for the day fly out the window.

"Dare I ask what the hell you two are doing?" she said.

"I don't know what this madgirl wants with me, but-"

"Hey, I finally have a chance to see a shipgirl pregnancy through... well, at least _part_ of the process, which is more than I've gotten before."

Despite the ensuing silence, Amaterasu herself could have descended from the heavens dancing the macarena with a dozen backup singers and nobody would've even turned her way. Akashi reached up to rub her temples, feeling a headache building. Luckily for her fraying sanity, Yuubari took exception to this first.

"Why the fuck would you think I'm pregnant?!" she demanded.

"You wanted to eat _phosphorus!"  
_  
"Yes! It's nice and spicy! And we need it to replenish star shells anyway!"

"How was I supposed to know?!"

 _"You've sortied! At night!"  
_  
Sighing, Akashi turned away from the bickering pair and turned her attention skyward. "I know you're listening," she said. "And I know the other shoe is about to drop, so could you please just get it over with?"

Your wish is my command. Scarcely had she finished the sentence when the door was flung open, Admiral Goto and Kongo striding in, both in civvies.

"Okay, we're here, _now_ are you going tell me why I have to see Akashi?" Kongo snapped. Akashi raised an eyebrow; that was a clear sign that the battleship was absolutely _steamed_ at her partner.

Goto, for his part, seemed bound and determined to ignore that, making a beeline for the repair ship. "Ah, Akashi," he said nervously. "Sorry to bother you so early..." He slowly trailed off, eyes wide. A flick over her shoulder confirmed that he was staring at the Yuubaris, who were _still_ arguing. Amazing, that.

"Goto..." Kongo growled.

"Ah, r-right! I, uh, I just need you to check if Kongo is, er..." And with this Admiral Goto, a man who was both a hero of the Abyssal War and capable of taking on any standard Abyssal in single comment, flushed in embarrassment. "Pregnant..."

Yup. Just what she'd expected. Same with Kongo's poleaxed expression.

And then Nagato burst in, Hoppo slung over one arm and tears and snot running down her face.

"Sabe Hobbo-chan!" the battleship sobbed.

[What the hell are you _talking about_ , woman?!] the Abyssal in question roared.

"Let me guess," Akashi deadpanned. "You think Hoppo's pregnant, don't you?"

 _Everything_ ceased, even the Yuubaris' bickering, and all eyes landed on Nagato, who somehow managed to look sheepish. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and then simply nodded.

"Right," Akashi stated. "I can safely say that no, Hoppo is _not_ pregnant, and I'm willing to bet Kongo and Yuubari aren't, either." With that said, Akashi put on her best 'aggravated medic' expression. From the way everyone's expressions shifted from stupefaction to terror, it was a good one. "Now kindly _get out."  
_  
None of the assembled shipgirls (nor Admiral Goto) could clear out fast enough. Once the Yuubaris finished wheeling their device away, Akashi slumped against the wall, trying to get back her energy. This respite, sadly, lasted only for a few seconds before Zuikaku and Kaga poked their heads in.

"Is... this a bad time?" the younger carrier asked.

Sighing internally, Akashi pushed herself off the wall. "No, no, what do you need?"

"Well, after the news about E, we wanted to know if there's any sort of birth control available..."

"We might have had a little scare this morning," Kaga admitted.


	142. Rule 2477

**Rule 2477: Thanks to a tentative of the Abyssal to raise her as one of their own (failed: the local priest had used an oak bench to beat the Abyssal Corruption senseless) the aircraft carrier** **Sparviero** **has joined the Regia Marina forces.**

The Island Siege Empress glared up at the reconnaissance plane flying overhead. Though nigh-invisible to radar and cruising at Mach 6, the Aurora was still visible to the Mark 1. Eyeball, and she was an _Abyssal Empress_ ; such a feat as tracking the spy plane was nothing. Still, it galled her that she could do nothing about it. The damn thing simply turned up the engines to evade her missiles and the Director had been unable to help. Literally unable. That was so rare that the Empress hadn't even snarked at her creator when she got into a screaming rant on the subject.

Besides, she couldn't even really be mad at the Director for that; the redhead had already come through with some excellent goodies that were doing wonders in holding off the shipgirls. Pulling her gaze away from the Aurora now probably crossing over Spain, she gazed down at her Abyssals lounging in the Grand Harbor. To-class torpedo battleships and Mi-class missile cruisers had proved a potent combination, and already she was looking forward to combining them with her slowly rebuilding battle fleet.

Her carrier situation, though, was dire. She'd never had many to begin with, and they'd been slowly whittled away as the Pacific forces monopolized reinforcements. So, now that the damn spy plane was gone, she could get to work remedying that.

Turning around, she eyed the summoning circle piled with material, a To-class that had demonstrated some leadership qualities standing by. [Circle looks good...] she mused. [Is that everything?]

[I think so,] the battleship replied, before suddenly reaching into her pocket. [Oh, one more thing.] Pulling out an Ansaldo nameplate, she tossed it onto the pile. [There, that should do it.]

The Island Siege Empress nodded, and stomped her foot, dark power flowing out and enveloping the circle, which nonetheless began to glow. The glow, tinged with black, grew brighter and brighter, eclipsing the materials gathered - and then with a flash, the two were left with only an empty circle.

[What.]

[Wasn't there supposed to be a new Abyssal in there?] the To asked, confused.

[Yes,] Island Siege Empress growled. [So where the _fuck_ is my carrier?!]

~o~

Aquila charged up the hills surrounding Genoa, Zara and Vittorio Veneto just behind her. Of all the places for an Abyssal to show up, it just had to be in the Genoan suburbs! Or exurbs, whatever the term was these days. It was only by considerable good fortune that the trio had even been there. And supremely fortunate that the alert had gotten through the bureaucracy normally in the way so fast; this had had to make four connections just to get to them.

Though even with it getting through, only the most critical information had been transmitted: there was an Abyssal in a small church, and it needed killing. This left them no choice but to go in guns blazing, which as a carrier Aquila was naturally quite leery of.

Shaking her head, Aquila dispelled those thoughts; the church in question was up ahead, if the broken windows, holes in the walls, and crashing sounds drifting out of them were any indication. She came to a halt and raised her bow to launch planes, Zara and Vittorio Veneto taking point - right as something came flying out of the door. It landed, bounced, and then skidded to a halt against Zara's feet, the heavy cruiser stumbling slightly from the impact.

Aquila poked her head around the heavy cruiser, Vittorio Veneto to her right, and saw a black-clad Abyssal carrier that looked nothing like any other known Abyssal carrier variant - and no, it wasn't just because of the swirling eyes and extensive bruising. Looking up, she saw an elderly priest step through the door, breathing heavily and brandishing a wooden bench of all things, a splintered, broken end attesting to what he'd used it for.

"Oh, good, you're here," the priest said, dropping the bench. "I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep that up."

"I'd say you did more than just 'keep up'," Vittorio Veneto remarked.

Suddenly, the Abyssal twitched, and all the black bled out of her, leaving behind a carrier shipgirl.

A rather familiar carrier shipgirl.

"Sparviero?!" Aquila yelped.

Zara and Vittorio Veneto stared uncomprehending at her for a moment, and then the heavy cruiser made the connection with an exasperated groan.

"Please tell me we didn't just get our version of Aso or Newark," she muttered.

"She wasn't _that_ incomplete!"


	143. Rule 2479

**Rule 2479. The setting of blind dates with civvies is only to be allowed AFTER a thorough background check has been run.**

"No, no, and _hell_ no."

Despite her words and her carefully crafted angry exterior, Tenryuu was shivering inside. Tatsuta had held off on doing her usual shows of sisterly affection for long enough that she'd actually let her guard down, and now she was paying the price that negligence. But on this, no matter how scary her sister could be, Tenryuu was not budging. Not after the last round of Desdiv 6-setup blind dates.

"Sister, do be reasonable," Tatsuta said in the overly-sweet voice she used when she had annoyance building. Somehow, Tenryuu couldn't find herself to care. "The date's already set up, and you wouldn't want to break the poor man's heart by having me cancel, would you?"

"Actually, yes," Tenryuu countered. "Yes, I would. Or rather, I have zero fucks to give about that. I'm not doing it. You've pried my blind date stories out of me, you know how this goes!"

"They were blind dates arranged by _children_ ," Tatsuta said dismissively. "I'd like to think I have a better eye for men than them."

"Answer's still no."

"Very well then," Tatsuta sighed. "If you persist in this, then not only will you still go on the date, but I will pick your outfit. Agree, and I will let _you_ choose."

On second thought, a blind date was well worth not getting stuffed in _that dress_ again. Or whatever else Tatsuta had bought in the meantime. "Alright, I'll do it," Tenryuu sighed. "But I reserve the right to say I told you so!"

"That's fine, I don't expect to need you to," Tatsuta replied.

~o~

The next morning, Tatsuta was jerked awake by a beam of sunlight spearing her sensitive eyes, which was odd, because her room didn't let the sun shine directly on her bed. It was then that the rest of her body helpfully reminded her that she'd fallen asleep on a chair waiting for Tenryuu, who was still conspicuously absent.

"Where is my sister?" Tatsuta muttered, before standing and going in search of coffee.

Luckily, Akatsuki had some, and so right as she returned to resume her vigil she found Tenryuu sprawled out in said chair.

And to put it bluntly, she looked like shit.

Her face, decorated with dark bags, wild, disheveled hair, and boneless posture all pointed to her not only being up all night, but up all night doing physically exhausting things. Her eyepatch was gone, exposed the circuitry of her artificial eye. The smart outfit she'd picked out before the date - brand-new blue jeans, and a cream woolen vest over a black tie and white shirt - were alternatively tattered, holed, burned, water-soaked, _blood_ -soaked, and other things Tatsuta really didn't want to identify. And on top of all that, she had several bruises on her exposed skin that spoke of getting hit with high-caliber small arms.

"Tenryuu?" Tatsuta breathed. "What happened to you?"

Slowly, shakily, Tenryuu raised a finger. "Fucking... told ya so..." she groaned. "Fucking Russians... fucking _Triads_..."

Eyes wide, Tatsuta reached down and gave her sister a shake. "Russians? _Triads?_ Sister, what are you talking about?"

"Jus'... turn on th' news..."

Dubiously, Tatsuta did so, and her eyes widened again. The news anchor was going over a pair of bloody shootouts that had rocked Tokyo overnight, one in a nightclub and the other in Yokohama's docks. Dozens were dead, though thankfully most seemed to be career criminals with only a handful of bystanders injured. And in some of the shots was Tenryuu, a furious expression on her face and guns in hand.

 _'This just raises further questions!'_ Tatsuta mentally wailed. To that end, she turned around only to find her sister audibly snoring. _'And since she was up all night...'  
_  
Sighing, Tatsuta stripped her sister's ruined clothes off of her and then tucked her into bed, before sitting at her computer to do more research.

A few hours later, Tatsuta felt fairly confident in her picture of the situation. The date she'd picked was somehow, in some way, related to organized crime. The dinner had gone off without a hitch - and then when the two had gone to a dance club afterward, they'd been attacked by two separate squads of goons, one Russian mob and one Triad, looking to shoot the guy. They hadn't counted on Tenryuu being there, clearly, because her sister had promptly gone through them like wheat through a combine harvester, scrounging guns and ammo off dead mooks.

The fight on the docks took some more research to parse. Why was it last, and why was the fight that _big_ , with so many high-ranking members identified among the bodies? Well, that probably had to do with the reports of additional fighting between the club and the docks that she had a sneaking suspicion was Tenryuu smoking out hideouts. So she'd gone after the heads out of sheer anger?

Sighing in frustration, Tatsuta closed her laptop and glanced towards her sister. Still sleeping. Well, answers were going to have to wait. At least now she had something of a picture of what happened.

~o~

Okayama Ken stared out the window of his office, overlooking an enclosed shopping district that he actually didn't have any fingers in. Behind him, kneeling prone with his forehead to the floor, was his cousin Okayama Aikuro, quivering in terror. Poor bastard probably thought Ken was going to have him 'disappeared', but nothing could be further from the truth. Aikuro was an excellent accountant, a valued double-agent with the Russians (not least because he'd cleared the idea with Ken before trying), and more importantly, none of the disaster from last night had touched his own operations. Well. Very little of that disaster, anyway. Okuu really should have known better than to try and fleece a shipgirls looking to buy guns.

Instead, the disaster had struck down his greatest rivals, setting back their operations for _years._ And while he dearly wanted to take credit for that, from what Aikuro had said it was all an extremely unfortunate coincidence. The sheer odds of Aikuro going on a blind date with a _shipgirl_ as not one but _two_ hit squads were gunning for him... Ken shook his head. And _then_ said shipgirl had decided to go... oh, what was that American movie... _John Wick_ , yes, that was it. All John Wick on their asses.

"Stand up, cousin," Ken stated. Cloth rustled behind him, and he nodded. "I have thought this over, and have come to the conclusion that this was all an unfortunate coincidence that decided to hit our enemies more than ourselves. In fact, I find myself no longer in need of a double agent. You may return to your current position."

"Ah, boss?"

Ken frowned, and glanced over at Aikuro, who was still shaking. Hmm. Maybe it wasn't him that the man feared. "Yes?"

"I-I, ah, I-I think I-I need a v-vacation before I resume my duties," he said.

Ken flicked his eyes down to Aikuro's quivering hands. Oh, yes, definitely not him. "Very well. Two weeks; I hear Hiroshima is nice this time of year. Very well run. No shipgirls."

"T-Thank you, boss."

As his accountant scuttled out the door, Ken mentally revised or discarded several plans he'd been meaning to implement. He did not want to invite a repeat of last night, only on his own doorstep, thank you very much.


	144. Rule 2484

**New** **Rule 2484. Drum canisters are not nunchaku.  
**  
Maruyu eyed the Abyssal destroyer scanning the water for her. A quick dive behind a protruding chunk of coral had saved her from being spotted, but no way was she sneaking past the damn thing. Not for the first time, the little submarine cursed her constantly-broken diving abilities.

And that frustration, perhaps, was what led to Maruyu doing what she did next. Impatient, she wracked her brains for a solution to fight her way past the Abyssal. Then her eyes fell on the drum canisters she'd been towing, held together by a length of chain.

 _'Hmm...'  
_  
Grabbing one of the drums, she snapped it off its chain, leaving it attached with another by another length. Giving it an experimental swing, she took a deep breath, and then swung out from around the coral, screaming like a madwoman and twirling the drums like nunchaku.

On the one hand, the attack worked, though not in the way the submarine planned. The Abyssal destroyer took one look at the screaming madgirl and turned to flee. On the other hand, shortly after that happened the drums smacked right into Maruyu, one on her face and one on her stomach, simultaneously giving her a concussion and unpleasant nosebleed and also knocking the wind out of her.

Or, more colloquially, she knocked herself out.

~o~

"Where is that submarine?"

Kiso sighed through her teeth as she scanned the horizon. When Maruyu hadn't arrived at the appointed time, the light cruiser had immediately grabbed the first sub she could find and charged out on a rescue mission. Yeah, it wasn't authorized, but the area was safe (that's why Maruyu was traversing that stretch of sea in the first place), and what were they going to do, fire her? She had a line of Abyssal kills almost as long and impressive as Tenryuu.

"Right here!"

Kiso sucked in a breath as several thousand tons of very bouncy submarine landed in her arms and began nuzzling her neck.

"Why don't we take a break and..." Iku grinned sultrily, tugging down the straps of her swimsuit. _"Warm up_ a bit..."

Raising an eyebrow, Kiso gave the most direct response she could: she let go of the submarine, dumping her into the ocean with a startled yelp.

"Let's keep searching," she said, steaming off in a random direction.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Iku grumbled as she pulled herself back to the surface.

"Nope! But my gut knows!"

From the groan, Iku didn't agree with the clairvoyance of Kiso's gut.

You couldn't argue with results, though. Within fifteen minutes, they came across a gaggle of Abyssal destroyers huddled over a familiar, white-clad form. They never stood a chance. Iku sniped one with her 5.5" gun, and then Kiso was in melee, carving them up. Once the last one dropped dead into the water, the light cruiser leaned over Maruyu's prone form.

"Well, she's got a concussion, a nosebleed, and an impressive bruise on her gut, but otherwise she's fine," Kiso said, standing - just in time to see Iku pick up Maru-yu's improvised nunchaku and start spinning them around.

"Look, I'm Bruce Lee!" the sub declared. "Aiyayayaya-!"

THWACK!

"Ow, my boobies!"

Kiso sighed as Iku dropped the drums, clutching her breasts after they'd been smacked by said drums. Well, now she knew what happened to Maruyu. Of all the things...


	145. Rule 2488

**Rule 2488. The supply lieutenant is to be addressed as Lieutenant Xavier, not "Mr. Squiggles".  
**  
When it came to supply officers, Captain Yonehara of the JMSDF was very much an exception. _Everyone_ respected him, for a variety of reasons. He was dating a shipgirl, for starters. He was the one who scheduled the supply convoys that were essential to Japan like no other shipgirl fleet. As a captain, he could pull rank if he needed to, and he backed that up with some proper intimidation skills.

Oh, and he'd defeated a Re-class battleship in single combat. With a _sword_. As far as _anyone_ was concerned, that made him one of the baddest motherfuckers on the planet.

Lieutenant Xavier, US Navy, had none of these things going for him.

"Hey, Mr. Squiggles!"

Disrespect naturally followed. The man looked up, shoved down the urge to sigh, and addressed Conyngham. "My name is _Lieutenant Xavier,_ not 'Mr. Squiggles'."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Squiggles," the destroyer replied.

Sighing, Lieutenant Xavier asked, "So what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

The destroyer promptly slammed her palms on the lieutenant's desk, thankfully not breaking anything. "I'm here to demand the cheddar and sour cream baked Ruffles chips for the vending machine!" Conyngham answered. "Two weeks is far too long to go without them!"

"Let me see what the holdup is..." Xavier sighed, reaching for the necessary forms. He knew very well what was wrong, of course; some paper-pusher further up the supply chain had decided that they shouldn't stock the chips anymore for some arcane, inscrutable reason, but he wasn't about to admit that straight up. Unfortunately, the form when he found it was covered in nigh-incomprehensible scribbles. "Okay, maybe the Mr. Squiggles nickname has _some_ truth to it..."

It took a few minutes to decipher it, but it covered for the fact that he already knew, so... eh. "So, so?" Conyngham interjected. "What's it say?"

"Well, basically, those chips aren't coming back," he replied. "I'll put in a word, but this comes from someone much higher up the supply chain then me, so don't hold your breath."

Conyngham blinked, then scowled. "You suck!" she snapped, before stomping off.

Sighing, Lieutenant Xavier settled back in his chair. Ah, the life of a supply officer who _wasn't_ a world-class badass. A life of getting blamed for things that weren't your fault and yelled at by unreasonable shipgirls.

"Hello, Sugar Daddy."

Wait. That wasn't either of those things.

Glancing up from his paperwork, Xavier was first treated to the sight of a pair of breasts barely restrained by a bright blue bikini top sitting on his desk. He just managed to keep his gaze going up to USS Tuna's face, holding a sultry grin.

Lieutenant Xavier, meanwhile, just lifted up his clipboard and smacked its edge on top of the submarine's head, eliciting a squeak of pain.

"I'm not going to be your Sugar Daddy," he deadpanned.

"Auuuu, you're mean..." Tuna whined, but she still slunk away without trying anything more.


	146. Rule 2490

**Rule 2490. Ensign Yamashita's hand sanitizer must not be messed with in any way.**

Probably the only noteworthy thing about Ensign Yamashita was a mild germophobia that resulted in him carrying hand sanitizer everywhere, rubbing it on his hands after touching just about anything. Otherwise, he was just another paper-pusher in a base that required quite a few of them.

But where for humans this germophobia was just a somewhat common quirk, to shipgirls it was a source of endless confusion. For all that shipgirls had... mostly adapted to being human, some things they just didn't get. Germs, for instance. Not that shipgirls couldn't get germs, they could, but their experience of them tended to be... different. Fairy barricades with rifles different. Washing your hands? That got the grit and sweat off. Hand _sanitizer_? What's the point? Really, all they understood was that Ensign Yamashita got pissy when you tried to take the stuff away.

Experienced readers will know where this is going.

Amazingly, it took some time before someone deliberately messed with his hand sanitizer, in the form of someone sneaking into his room to get at it.

"Heheheheh..." Kinu chuckled as she carefully slipped the bottle out of the bag the ensign kept it in. "Oh, this is gonna be great." Unscrewing the top, she slipped in a little concoction she'd commissioned from Yuubari, and then carefully screwed it back up and slipped it back into the bag. And with that, she snuck out again.

About thirty minutes later, Sendai popped up and reached into the bag, pulling out the hand sanitizer. She too unscrewed it, and emptied a concoction she'd made herself. Giggling, she replaced the bottle and exited.

Finally, forty minutes after that, Hibiki came in. She to rummaged in Ensign Yamashita's bag, and pulled out the hand sanitizer. Unlike the previous two, she didn't do anything with it besides take it with her when she left.

The room was silent for several more hours until an alarm clock went a'buzzing, followed shortly by a very loud scream.

"YAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

~o~

Halfway across the base, Ikazuchi glanced off at a seemingly random direction. "Hey, did you guys hear that?"

Unfortunately, Hibiki's stomach picked that moment to register its protest at whatever it was the destroyer had done to it in the form of a fountain of bile. Ikazuchi's question was promptly dropped as every scrambled to handle this fresh emergency.

"I've got the ginger ale and Akashi!" Akatsuki declared as she burst in, bottle cradled in her arms. Behind her, the repair ship took on look at the scene - Hibiki curled up in a miserable ball on her bed, and Inazuma and Tenryuu sitting next to her worried and stained - and stepped forward to examine the snow-haired destroyer. Then she recoiled.

"Why is her skin _purple?!"_ she demanded.

"We have no idea, nanodesu," an exhausted Inazuma said as she slumped to the floor. "I need a shower..."

While Akashi went to work, Ikazuchi had put the odd scream out of her mind and was poking around Hibiki's belongings. They hadn't had a chance before due to the suddenness of the destroyer's symptoms, but now she could, and maybe Hibiki had ingested something she shouldn't have. So, what was out of place...?

That bottle of hand sanitizer looked likely. Especially since Tenryuu had cracked down on Hibiki's drinking problem the other day.

"Hey, you think this has anything to do with it?" she called out, holding up the bottle.

Tenryuu, Akatsuki, and Inazuma all gaped at it, while Akashi looked thoughtful. "Maybe, but that doesn't explain the purple skin," she said. "Or how violent the reaction has been." As if in response, Hibiki leaned over and began dry heaving.

"She drank _hand sanitizer?!"_ Tenryuu demanded.

"It does have alcohol in it."

Further discussion was cut off by someone kicking down the door, quickly revealed to be Ensign Yamashita. And he looked _pissed off_.

"Where is my _hand sanitizer?!"_ he demanded.


	147. Rule 2494

**Rule 2494. Junyou and Enterprise's card games are to cease immediately./Rule 2495. You many not use trading cards as substitutes for paper shikigami. We don't want a repeat of the last incident.**

Out on the lawn of Yokosuka, four destroyers stared intently at the cards in their hands, and at each other. Finally, after one long, tense moment, they all revealed their cards.

"Read 'em and weep," Oboro announced, a smug grin on her face. "Four jokers!"

"Oh yeah?" Akebono countered. "Three jokers and a holographic Charizard!"

"Two jokers, a wild draw four, and Baltic Avenue," Sagiri said, placing her own cards down.

"Two sugar-free lollipops and a dead squirrel!" Amagiri proudly declared.

Everyone stared at Amagiri for a second before Akebono sighed and said, "I hate playing Go Fish."

This was followed shortly by a stampede of shipgirls heading for the waterfront - and unusually, a lot of human sailors, as well. After one glance and several unspoken words, the destroyers discarded their cards and followed.

Unfortunately, being at the rear of the crowd meant they couldn't see a damn thing when the crowd stopped. Fortunately, there was a solution to that.

"Amagiri, Akebono, go nuts," Oboro ordered.

Both destroyers grinned and then dove into the crowd, shoving and elbowing and kicking a path through to a chorus of insincere "excuse me"s and "sorry"s, Oboro and Sagiri following in their wake.

"Uh, are you sure we should be doing this?" the latter asked.

"Eh, no one'll mind. Besides, you want to see this, right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then there's no problem."

Finally bursting through the front of the crowd, the destroyers immediately went to the railing and stared out onto the water, where Junyo and Enterprise had their rigging deployed and were staring each other down.

"What's going on here?" Oboro muttered.

"Paperwork-generating stupidity, that's what."

The quartet leaned over to get a good look at Fubuki, who was in her officer's uniform and looked like she'd just bitten into something foul. "Elaborate?" Amagiri requested.

"Enterprise!" Junyo suddenly announced. "It's time to duel!"

"Never mind."

Out on the water, the carrier had pulled out a deck of what everyone recognized as Yu-Gi-Oh! cards, and had somehow... slotted them into her deck scroll.

"Excellent!" Enterprise crowed, pulling out her own deck and slamming it home. Both shipgirls drew five cards-

DUEL!

And everyone flinched as a giant set of kanji suddenly appeared mid-air.

"Okay, what the fuck," Akebono deadpanned.

"I go first!" Enterprise declared. "I'll play two cards face down, and then summon Chainsaw Insect in attack mode!" Two things happened as Enterprise placed the cards: first, two _larger_ cards appeared, floating on the ocean, and second, right in front of them now floated a large beetle with, you guessed it, chainsaw mandibles. "I end my turn."

"Interesting!" Junyou declared as she drew a card. "In that case, I play a field spell! A Legendary Ocean!" Suddenly, the battlefield and the audience seemed like it was underwater, the ruins of a Greek city scattered around them. "And then I summon Terrorking Salmon in attack mode!" Said salmon appeared, floating in the water and significantly bigger than Junyou herself. It escaped no one's notice that Enterprise suddenly looked nervous. "Attack!"

The salmon darted forward, wrapping its jaws around the beetle and crunching down. It promptly burst into pixels, and the salmon swam back. Junyou, smirking, pulled out another card. "Oh, and just to be sure, I'll put a card face-down and play Mystical Space Typhoon." Another card appeared, this one face-up and with a tornado sprouting from it. Said tornado reached out and enveloped one of Enterprise's face-down cards, a dark magenta color being all that anyone saw before it, too, shattered into pixels.

"I end my turn," Junyou smugly stated as her card also vanished.

"My turn, then," Enterprise said as she drew a card. Upon seeing it, her frown was replaced by a wide smile. "I summon Beast King Barbaros!"

This monster was the most magnificent yet, a towering lion... centaur... thing with a massive spiral spear and an equally massive shield. To all onlookers it was thoroughly impressive.

"Oh ho ho ho ho ho!"

Not to Junyou, though.

"I was expecting something better, Enterprise!" the carrier said. "But without Skill Drain, your precious trump card is merely a four-star monster! A strong four-star monster, to be sure..." With a flourish, she indicated her mighty salmon. "But still just a four-star monster."

Whispers of dismay floated up among the crowd, but Enterprise didn't waver. "You think you have my deck crippled, don't you," she stated. Then she snorted derisively. "Really, did you think I didn't plan for such an obvious counter?" Grasping a card in her hand, she placed it on her flight deck, Barbaros now carrying an ornate axe rather than a spear. "I equip Beast King Barbaros with Axe of Fools!"

"What?!" Junyou yelped.

"Beast King Barbaros, attack!" Enterprise shouted. "Tornado Shaper!"

Rearing back its axe, the monster brought it down on the salmon, neatly cleaving it in two, Junyou throwing up her hands to guard her face from the spiraling wind that resulted.

"I end my turn."

Now it was Enterprise looking smug and Junyou looking worried. "I draw," the Japanese carrier said. Unlike the last draw, this time she stayed grim. "I activate my face-down card!" she declared, the card flipping up. "Level Conversion Lab!"

Mutterings broke out amongst the onlookers, mutterings that only intensified when Junyou showed Enterprise a card from her hand, prompting the carrier to noticeably pale. A colossal die appeared in the air, falling, landing, and rolling, before presenting a three.

"Yes!" Junyou shouted pumping her fist. "I summon Levia-Dragon - Daedalus!"

This new monster was a colossal sea serpent, rivaling Enterprise's monster in size. "It's one high-level monster after another..." someone muttered.

"I activate its special ability!" she declared. "By sacrificing Umi, I can destroy all other cards on the field!" All of a sudden, the watery landscape around them began to dissolve. "And since A Legendary Ocean is treated as Umi-"

Whatever that meant was lost as the field spell fully finished dissolving, showing that Barbaros' earlier attack had done more than everyone expected. A massive gouge was ripped in the concrete pier, stretching back to and through one of the buildings nearby. And on the pier was Admiral Goto, looking annoyed.

"Uh, oops?" Junyou chuckled.

~o~

A week later found Junyou out on the water to fly air cover for a battleship group. She hadn't launched her fighters yet; after all, once that happened all she had to do was sit back and watch the battleships annihilate everything in their path. Booooring. And she couldn't even fiddle with her cards; Admiral Goto had confiscated all but one deck, her backup she'd managed to hide away. A little too well, as it turned out; now she couldn't find the damn thing.

Any further thoughts, including thoughts of cursing Admiral Goto and seven generations of his family line, were scuppered as Yamato barked that they had incoming aircraft. Unrolling her scroll, Junyou willed her fighters to launch.

Instead, she got a two-tailed, skull-masked eagle the size of a city bus. With a red hawk-esque screech, it flew off towards the Abyssals.

"Huh..." she said. "So that's where it went..."


	148. Rule 2503

**Rule 2503. Yes, Kongo is now teaching a class on how to slip into what she calls "The In-Between Space." In order to take this class, you must pass a psych screening.**

"Please teach me!"

An errant noodle slipped out of Kongo's mouth and into her bowl, which finally snapped her out of the shock of Asagumo just marching up and slamming her palms on the table in front of her.

"Uh, teach you what?" Kongo asked. "Because if this is about battleship things like with Kiyoshimo-"

"No, I wanna know how to do that teleporting thing you do!" Asagumo interrupted. "I need to show up the Kageros! And... I kinda need it to keep track of Yamagumo. I don't know how she does it..."

Slurping up some more noodles, Kongo considered the idea. Asagumo, tsundere tendencies aside, was one of the saner shipgirls in Yokosuka, and had even managed to put aside said tsundereness to ask about this. What the hell, it couldn't hurt.

"Sure," she said.

Asagumo's eyes widened, and a wide grin split her face. "Really? You'll- thankyouthankyouthank-!"

Suddenly, the destroyer froze, eyes flickering around the mess and everyone else staring at her. She straightened, ostentatiously cleared her throat, and declared, "Well, uh, consider it a privilege that I'm, even, uh..."

"Take your time," Kongo said kindly.

Instead of continuing, Asagumo just flushed crimson and de-assed the area as fast as she could. Kongo couldn't help but chuckle as she went back to her noodles.

"That poor girl needs to stop trying so hard."

~o~

Asashio took her job as lead ship of her class very seriously, to the amusement of many other shipgirls. At sea, they were under command of their flotilla leaders, and Asashio gladly let them handle it, but on shore she handled what disciplinary and bureaucratic tasks were delegated.

Which was very little, really, but she took them very seriously.

Still, she could admit that Kongo showing up at her door looking worried was a welcome break from the monotony.

"Hey, Kongo. What's up?"

"I, uh, might have broken Asagumo," the battleship replied, holding up the destroyer in question by her collar. By the wide, bloodshot eyes and lines of drool she was sporting, Asashio found herself agreeing.

"What did you _do?"  
_  
"SKIPPITY BOPPITY BOO!"

"She asked me to teach her how to travel the in-between space," Kongo said, ignoring the nonsensical outburst. "I... don't think her mind took it well."

"Purple swirly things... impossible geometry... _impertinent lightning squid..."  
_  
"Yeah."

"I'll put in a request for a mental health professional," Asashio sighed. "And also to get some on retainer so we can figure out how _you're_ immune to the mind-breaking effects and Asagumo isn't. Then we can set parameters for whoever else asks for those lesson."

"What makes you think there'll be more people asking for lessons?" Kongo queried.

"You can _teleport,"_ Asashio deadpanned. "I don't think you quite realize how convenient that can be."


	149. Rule 2505

**Rule 2505: Shipgirls are to remember that you are military personnel and your rigging is considered part of your uniform so no you may not sell ad space on it.**

Musashi stared in dismay at the menu of the new burger restaurant that had just opened up right next to the naval base. So expensive! Maybe she wouldn't come back after all...

Fifteen minutes later, Musashi had gotten her burger and was in complete bliss. Nope, she'd definitely be coming back. Taking another bite of the burger, she basked in the overwhelming flavors of beef, cheese, and salt, counterbalanced by the cool lettuce and spongy bun. Only once the bliss passed some did she go back to considering how to actually _pay_ for these. Expensive as they were, making a habit of this would quickly drain her bank accounts. Another bite, another moment of bliss. But how could she not come back?!

Finishing off the burger, she scanned the rest of the restaurant. Good ambience, nice decor, excellent food... so where _was_ everybody? The prices were high, yeah, but if you didn't have a shipgirl appetite they were worth it for the food. The location, squeezed between a convenience store and a boarded-up hardware store wasn't ideal, but she'd seen restaurants in worse locations thrive.

She was distracted once again by her next burger arriving, a bit of egg white visible under a generous helping of brown gravy and the buns composed of packed rice instead of bread. For once, Musashi found herself needing to eat a burger with a knife and fork. It was still utterly delicious. Anyway, the restaurant didn't have many customers, and she needed to find some way to reduce the cost of eating here.

Ding!

The third burger - knife stabbed straight through and onion ring poking out from under the bun - came out and the plan was put on hold until she could finish the burger. Then she could talk to the owner about the plan.

~o~

"Musashi," Nagato declared, her scowl even more intense than usual. "What is that you have on your rigging?"

"Oh, this?" the battleship replied, glancing at the large decal attached to one of her turrets. "Just an advertisement for a new burger place that popped up a few weeks ago. I get free burger vouchers, he gets more customers. Win-win!"

"Yes," Nagato ground out, one eyebrow twitching. "Except your rigging counts as part of your uniform, which means no advertisements!"

Suddenly, feminine giggling sounded out, and Nagato glanced over her shoulder at Mutsu, who was doubled over from the laughter. "You have something to say, sister?"

"Ara ara, just..." Another bout of giggles as the battleship indicated all three of them. "I really don't think the uniform regulations are in any position to be enforced."

Nagato blinked, then glanced down at her outfit. The long overcoat could maybe be justified, but her midriff-baring top and miniskirt? Not so much. Same with Mutsu, and Musashi's entire outfit straddled the line of public indecency. And then, of course, there was Shimakaze's outfit. More importantly, nobody tried to enforce actual regulations except in the case of formal events.

"Withdrawn, then," Nagato said. _'But I'm also running this by the Admiral.'_

~o~

"Y'know, on second thought, this whole 'advertisement' thing might have been a bad idea..." Musashi grumbled to herself. The battleship was neck-deep in letters from eager advertisers, and her email account was also being blown up. Problem was, most of these requests were very clearly from people who had watched her old videos; they wanted Makoto Shikagawa rather than the battleship Musashi, and that came with some very serious contractual problems. Not to mention that she wasn't interested in reliving her glory years at the moment.

Creaking wood drew her eye to Akagi, who was watching the proceedings with a hungry eye. On second thought, maybe there was a way to get out of this and not piss off half the porn industry in Japan. After all, it was their fault they'd ran with the decals-and-food-vouchers idea she'd originally floated.

"Hey, Akagi, how do you feel about getting lots of food by putting stickers on your rigging?" she called out.


	150. Rule 2512

**Rule 2512: To the SCIENCE!Girls, you are forbidden to try to summon giant mechas from other universes with the same ritual as you ShipGirls, we do not want to see the eventual results. Even more in case of Evangelion...**

Deep within the bowels of the earth, in a concrete bunker of great size festooned with scientific equipment, a dark figure in goggles and white lab coat pored over arcane and heretical formulas, a throaty cackle creeping out from between her lips.

"Yes..." she breathed giddily. "Yes, soon! Soon I will show _all_ those Japanese fools exactly how we Americans do things! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Dakota, did you get into my energy drinks again?"

South Dakota let out a _very_ undignified shriek of surprise and terror, jumping a good four feet into the air. Phoenix just watched, unamused. "Nice height," she remarked.

"Oh, get bent, Phoenix!" South Dakota snapped once she'd landed. "I was doing some very delicate work-"

"You were poring over plans, Dakota, don't sugarcoat it." That said, Phoenix stepped forward, grinning widely. "So, what are you doing and how can I help?"

Reminded that her partner in lab space could be every bit as enthusiastic and creative as herself, South Dakota allowed herself to grin and explain. "Y'know the Gundam the Yuubaris built a while back?"

"How could I forget?" Phoenix replied, rolling her eyes. "It was all they talked about for weeks afterward." She blinked, an absolutely insane idea coming to her. "Wait, are you planning to build your own?"

"Pff, nothing so mundane. Anyone can build a giant robot, but they're still limited by the laws of physics and available technology." Beginning to pace, South Dakota's voice steadily increased in pitch and volume. "No, far better to _summon_ a robot from the realms of fiction, unconstrained by nothing but the needs of the story and the author's imagination! These can be true machines of war, unstoppable, un-"

"No Evangelions, Dakota," Phoenix interrupted. She promptly flinched back as the battleship invaded her personal space.

"I swear to Tesla, Streng, and _Sir Isaac Newton himself_ , _if you do not stop interrupting me, I will turn you into a small, cute puppy and leave you with the next Fletcher cuddlepile. Understood?"  
_  
"Can't... breathe...!" Phoenix wheezed, prompting South Dakota to look down at her hand and how it was busily squeezing the cruiser's throat like a toothpaste tube.

"Sorry!" South Dakota yelped, letting go.

Phoenix just waved her off, clutching her throat. "N-No... s'all good..."

Nodding and composing herself, South Dakota muttered, "Now, where was I...? Oh, right! Unstoppable machines of war! And I've even got the perfect target!" Stalking over to the workbench she'd been hunched over, she grabbed something and held it up. "Behold!"

Sitting there on South Dakota's hand was a black lion... robot... _thing._ "What is that?" Phoenix deadpanned, still rubbing her aching windpipe.

"This is the Black Lion of Voltron! Don't you recognize it?"

"No."

Growling in frustration, South Dakota stalked over to the summoning circle the two kept maintained and carelessly tossed the lion toy onto it. "Well, fine! Just watch!" Four more lion toys joined the black one, followed by a stack of materials. The summoning circle began to glow almost immediately, building up to a crescendo- and then it faded without anything to show.

"What!" South Dakota yelped.

"Uh, considering how big this room is," Phoenix stated, uneasily eyeing the concrete ceiling above. "I think this might have been for the best."

"This is a ripoff!"

~o~

Despite South Dakota's opinion, something _had_ changed. In a cave tucked in a remote stretch of Monument Valley, there was a flash, and where once was merely a chamber holding part of an underground river stood a blue, mechanical lion encased in a glowing forcefield. The lion was not sapient as was generally understood, but it was sentient to a degree, and it knew something had changed.

But until a worthy pilot came and found it, it was content to continue to sleep and wait.


	151. Rule 2517

**Rule 2517. Tenryuu is not a Momboat!  
**  
Tenryuu slumped in her chair and pulled up Shipgirls Online. Tatsuta, though suitably dissuaded from more blind dates, was still bound and determined to find her big sister a man. Between that and handling Desdiv 6, the forum and her combat sorties were a very important source of stress relief. Slowly, she scanned over the list of subforums. Hmm, decisions decisions. Go into the versus sections, shitpost in the latest fleet action scenario or umpteenth Goku versus Superman debate? Tempting, but the fell gaze of the mods had landed on that subforum after the lobsters and Americans had gotten into a twenty-page deflagration on where, exactly, the Time Lords stood in the hierarchy of fictional universes. Shitpost in News and Politics? Nah, that had gotten boring, and would likely stay boring until someone dug up another obscure book on political philosophy and got enamored with it. Go and shitpost in the roleplaying subforum? Nah, that had real life consequences. Seriously, Isokaze took her Camelot quest _way_ too seriously.

That left only one option: go and shitpost in the general subforum. The ninth main-line Star Wars movie had finally come out, maybe there was a controversy there she could stir up. But her attention was very quickly sidetracked upon reaching the front page of the subforum by a new thread, titled "Best Momboat". Curious, she clicked on it, and immediately recoiled.

There, right at the top of the page, was a poll, the subject matter obvious. And right at the top, with a clear majority, was Tenryuu's own name.

Now, Tenryuu didn't _mind_ the momboat label, especially coming from her destroyers. Oh, she'd blush in embarrassment and make a token protest, but anyone who actually witnessed the act would see it for the bit of tsun-tsun theater it was. For the most part. That said, she didn't think of herself as a momboat, mostly because she tended to be too indulgent for that. So at a certain mass, getting called a momboat _did_ generally get to her.

Over two hundred people voting her for Best Momboat - not even _a_ momboat, Best Momboat - exceeded that limit by a country mile. Once she got over her blush and leaking steam, she quickly moved to the end of the thread to compose a reply.

Or, at least, she would have, had she not gotten distracted actually reading the thread.

Once she recovered from another meltdown, she typed out a quick message that was elegantly straightforward.

 _"It's Big Sis Boat! Geddit right!"  
_  
Satisfied, Tenryuu clicked away with the intent of going for the Cute Pictures Thread. But a little red flag at the top right corner of her browser caught her attention: an alert. Frowning, she clicked on it, seeing that it was a reply to the post she'd literally made thirty seconds prior. Clicking on it, she found not one, but _three_ people quoting her post - and most of them were people complaining about how she was totally a momboat.

Growling, Tenryuu dove into setting the record straight.

~o~

Thirty minutes, twelve infractions, seven temp-bans, two moderator interventions, and a locked thread later, Tenryuu slumped in defeat in her chair. She should have known the first rule of PR management: the Streisand Effect. Denying or attempting to suppress information only motivated people to dig it up and plaster it everywhere.

Still, if there was one thing she knew, it was that she could hand this off to her girls. They were tireless in her defense. In the meantime, she had an appointment with the alcohol she'd confiscated from Hibiki.

~o~

"Yay, Tenryuu's the best momboat, nanodesu!"

"Of course she is!"

"Yeah, an elegant lady like myself would only choose the best momboat!"

"Khorosho."

Tenryuu let out a groan into her arms and tried very hard not to turn it into a scream. Of course. _Of course_ her girls were perpetuating the momboat thing.

"There, there," Tatsuta said as she patted her sister's back.


	152. Rule 2523

**Rule 2523. It needs not be said but taking pictures during a live combat mission for the purposes of something that's not decidedly for Intel and other military matters is expressly prohibited.  
**  
The Iowa sisters were an... odd choice for discretely placing a bomb at a known Abyssal base, at first glance. Mostly due to Iowa and New Jersey. It would surprise a lot of people to know that those two could be very sneaky if they wanted to, and both Wisconsin and Missouri didn't need to want to. As several Abyssal battleships had found out the hard way.

Still, sneakiness could only get you so far against Abyssal bases, which is why the Iowas were the counterintuitive choice for sneaking bombs onto them. They were fast enough and powerful enough to get away if they were discovered, and Wisconsin had proven a deft hand with the explosives. Between those two qualities, they often did as much damage in retreat as they did with the explosives.

This particular mission was going about as well as it could. The Abyssal princess in question seemed to be green, to say nothing of her troops; Abyssal light cruisers had walked right past them without noticing no less than four times, and by now Iowa and New Jersey were getting bored.

"Ugh, what's taking so long?" New Jersey quietly grumbled.

"Probably making sure the bomb doesn't go boom-boom before we want it to," Iowa said innocently.

New Jersey froze, and slowly turned a half-lidded, incredulous gaze on her older sister. "That was a rhetorical question, dumbass."

"I know!"

Sighing, New Jersey leaned back against the stone. "I wish Wiscy would hurry up with that bomb..."

"Okay, you guys, bomb's set," Wisconsin suddenly announced. "We've got about thirty seconds."

Jersey and Iowa blinked, and then exchanged matching grins. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Iowa coyly asked.

"Fuck yeah I'm thinking what you're thinking!" New Jersey declared, standing up. "Yo, Mo, Wiscy! You guys wanna take a 'walking away from an explosion' picture?"

"No, we are not-" Missouri immediately tried to reply, only to be interrupted by Wisconsin grabbing her goggles and stepping front of her.

"Fuck yeah I'm doing this!" she declared.

Clearly seeing the futility of trying to actually _stop_ her sisters, Missouri sighed and stated, "I'm not going to be a part of this."

"'S cool, we need someone to hold a camera anyway," New Jersey said as she walked over to Wisconsin, Iowa trailing behind. Her phone changed hands with Missouri as she passed. "Alright, how much time do we have?"

"Ten seconds," Wisconsin said as she positioned her glasses right above her hair line.

"Get in line, get in line!" New Jersey annou- wait, where'd she gotten that cigar? When did Iowa pull out a rifle version of one of her 16" guns?

Y'know what? Don't question it. The battleships got into position, the bomb went off, and Missouri snapped the picture - and then milliseconds after that, the blast wave hit her three sisters, throwing their 57,000-ton hulls like ragdolls. Missouri, parked on the water with her rigging full deployed, barely even budged.

Sighing, she steamed over to where her sisters were lying sprawled out on the water, and leaned over Iowa and New Jersey. "Here," she said, handing Jersey her phone back. "I do hope it was worth it."

Grasping the device with trembling hands, New Jersey pulled up the image and grinned, then showed it off to Iowa. "WORTH IT!" they declared, high-fiving each other.

"Great, it was worth it," Missouri grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Now can we please go before the local patrol forces find us?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jersey grumbled as she stood on shaky feet. Behind her, Iowa and Wisconsin were doing the same - and as if on cue, all three collapsed back to the water just as several Abyssal heavy cruisers appeared on the horizon.

Palm, meet face.

"Get up and get moving," Missouri said through the hand covering her face. "I need to go work out some stress."


	153. Rule 2524

**Rule 2524. Impromptu competitions via the on-base Dance Dance Revolution machines are hereby suspended until they can be reinforced.**

"Los Angeles! I challenge you!"

At that proclamation, the heavy cruiser looked up from her phone. Her first impression was that an orange traffic cone was talking to her. That impression, thankfully, quickly resolved into a steamed-looking Naka.

"Uh, challenge me to what?" Los Angeles asked.

"A dance-off!" Naka declared. "I've seen your videos on Youtube, and I've decided you will be an excellent challenge!"

Los Angeles blinked. "So, wait, this isn't about your obsession with competing idols?" she queried.

"THAT BITCH HATSUNE MIKU IS ANGLING FOR MY SPOT AND YOU ALL KNOW IT!" Naka shouted, before taking a deep breath and composing herself. "But no, this is just a little friendly competition."

"Then you're on," Los Angeles declared, standing and grinning. "We have some Dance Dance Revolution machines, so let's do it the most objective way."

"Lead the way, then," Naka said, bowing.

~o~

Truly, rumor was the fastest thing on base, and the two cruisers had a crowd of sailors and shipgirls around them as they scrolled through the available song list on one of the older DDR machines, barely ten minutes after the challenge had been issued. Neither noticed; they were busy with one of DDR's most time-honored traditions.

"The licensed songs _suck!_ And there's not enough of 'em! Besides, I've heard 'em all anyway!"

"And you think the Konami originals are any better? I've heard them all too, and they sucks just as bad! And I'm not giving that damn company any more attention than I can get away with!"

Namely, arguing over the song choice.

Ironically, the two were falling on the opposite sides of what one might expect from their nationalities. Los Angeles was arguing against the licensed American songs, while Naka was arguing against the various Konami originals. Of course, that only accounts for the new songs for that specific game.

"Oh, for God's sake!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Just pick your favorites oldie and get on with it!"

Blushing, the cruisers quickly scrolled down to a song and picked it. The song started up, and the dancing began, and jaws immediately began dropping. The song was fast, the arrows were faster, and yet both Naka and Los Angeles were neck and neck, perfect after perfect popping up on the screen. Slowly the crowd pressed in - at least, until Los Angeles' foot collided with Miami's skull in a textbook backwards spinning kick, dropping the light cruiser like a sack of flour and Los Angeles not missing a beat. Everyone backed off after that.

Soon enough, the song ended, and everyone was presented with a pair of perfect, and utterly identical scores.

"Damn..." Los Angeles breathed. "I'm sure you don't want to just leave it like this."

"Hell no," Naka agreed. "Time for MAX?"

"Time for MAX."

The few DDR veterans in the audience immediately stood a little straighter at those words. And this time, when the cruisers went to work on the song, they were not perfect. Not quite. But close enough that, coupled with the storm of arrows flowing up the screen, everyone's jaws dropped again. For a solid minute, the two were neck and neck. And then, disaster. Two feet came down on the overstressed pads of the game systems, and went straight through the abused plastic.

"Shoot," Los Angeles spat.

"We'll have to continue this some other time, I guess," Naka panted. "But you're good. I'm looking forward to a rematch."

"You're on."

~o~

Two days later found Revenge watching the video of the contest. A loud snort ripped its way out of her nose.

"Pfft, amateurs," she said. "Ah'll have ta school dose fools on what _real_ dancin' is."

"NOT UNTIL THEY REINFORCE THE MACHINES YOU'RE NOT!" Royal Oak shouted.


	154. Rule 2525

**2525\. Playing "Twister" is allowed, but playing Twister without proper undergarments are strictly forbidden.**

Kashima groaned and let her head drop against the tabl with a loud thump. Teaching destroyers all the military stuff had been easier than this! "This" being more usual schooling, and it was something of a nightmare. Most of the destroyers - and it was destroyers who were taking these classes - had excellent math skills, and were solid in both written and verbal Japanese as well as foreign languages, particularly English, even if many needed to update their kanji knowledge.

It was the rest of a usual primary education that they were quite strenuously protesting as "useless". And unfortunately, they weren't entirely wrong. So teaching them was an exercise in hair-pulling and teeth-grinding when it wasn't just painful futility.

"Aaaaaaargh!"

"Hark! What do we hear, Atago?"

"Why, Tone, I do believe that is a cry of stress!"

Glancing up, Kashima spotted Tone and Atago leaning into her office, smiling invitingly. "Sorry, I tried to stop them!" she heard Takao call out.

"What are you two doing here?" she sighed.

"We were gonna go play a game of Twister," Tone answered, holding up the box. "But then we heard your little headdesk session and decided that you could probably use a break from... whatever it is you're doing."

"That much stress isn't healthy, you know!" Atago sagely added.

Kashima considered the idea, and glanced back at the pile of homework she'd just finished grading. "Is it going to be private?" she asked.

"We've borrowed a room with a lock, if that's what you're asking."

Good enough. "Sure, I'll join you," Kashima said.

~o~

Kisaragi crept along the concrete floor, away from the sounds of a rather nasty ongoing brawl between Aoba and Iku. The former was, apparently, trying to keep the latter _away_ from the group playing Twister; in fact, the heavy cruiser had been the first to spot those five - six, if some of the fresher rumors were to be believed - and had immediately decided to stop the best-known pervert on base from taking advantage.

Which left her with a clear shot.

Once the sounds of fighting faded away, Kisaragi stood and walked normally. She was just a destroyer out for a stroll, after all!

 _"Right foot, yellow."  
_  
And there was her prize! Following the sounds of the instructor, she quickly made her way over to the room the Twister game was being played in, picked the lock with the ease of a master, and then opened the door and poked her head in.

Several blood vessels in her nose promptly burst at the sight, a tangle of limbs and raised, barely covered butts. Though she'd heard that shipgirls were playing Twister, Kisaragi hadn't known who would be playing, and she _certainly_ hadn't been expecting five of the six shipgirls that many called the "No-panties brigade", with varying degrees of derisiveness. Presently, nothing was actually _showing_ , hence why she was still standing, but Kisaragi knew just what was barely hidden behind all the skirts and Atago's pantyhose, and all it'd take was one move to-!

 _"Left foot, red."  
_  
"Shit..." she heard Tone mutter, before the pile began to shake. "'Scuse me, pardon me-"

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Kashima."

Kisaragi watched the pile shift and shake, cloth shiver, and prayed, _prayed_ for a-!

Kashima fell forward, nearly onto her face, and her skirt flipped up with her. With a wet pop, Kisaragi promptly collapsed in a spray of blood.

"Worth... it..." the destroyer groaned.


	155. Rule 2527

**Rule 2527. Whoever made the Naval Yard Erotic Pinup Calendar, please surrender. The Admirals and the Naval Officers that you've used as your subjects in creating this thing will not be merciful towards you if you don't, same goes for the shipgirls under their command and/or in relationship with.**

Aoba stared in gape-mouthed horror at the stand Akigumo had set up. This was because, prominently displayed on the top of the booth the destroyer was working from, was a calendar pinned to the wood displaying a picture _she remembered taking._ Namely, Admiral Goto, entirely nude except for his hat, flexing as if in front of a mirror. In fact, that was because he _had_ been in front of a mirror. Thankfully, she'd removed that camera before she'd gotten tossed in prison.

Somehow, Aoba grew even paler, a cold sweat springing forth on her brow. She _had_ removed that camera, hadn't she? _Hadn't she?  
_  
Panic gripped her as she realized that she _couldn't remember._ Shit. _Fuck_. She knew Kongo; the minute the fast battleship saw that calendar, both she and Admiral Goto would punish Aoba, then tear apart the room, and then punish her _worse_ once they found the camera. Aoba shivered, her mind conjuring increasingly lurid scenarios. Oh, God, what if they broke out the candle wa-

"What's going on here?"

"I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS! I'M INNOCENT!" Aoba shrieked as she flopped onto her back and shielded her face with her hands. After several seconds of nothing happening, she chanced a peek between her hands to find Kongo utterly bewildered.

"Had nothing to do with..." Her eyes shifted upwards, landing in line with the calendar and widening. "What..."

After a long moment of silence, Kongo reached down and yanked Aoba close to her, the heavy cruiser torn between screaming until her throat gave out and fainting dead away. As a compromise, her lungs forced out a high-pitched croak. After all, Kongo's eyes were quite literally shining, wide and bloodshot and the pupils shrunk to black dots, and her mouth was now a rictus grin stretching ear to ear and yet missing any sign of _teeth_.

 _"YOU SAY YOU DIDN'T DO THIS."  
_  
"I-I-I-I t-t-took the p-pictures..." She gulped, silently thanking every deity she knew that Kongo didn't react to _that_ tidbit immediately. "B-Before the a-a-a-arrest! A-And I h-had n-nothing to do with the c-c-c-calendar!"

 _"DO YOU SWEAR IT?"  
_  
"Y-Y-Yes, I- Oh God-"

 _"SWEAR TO GOD? SWEAR TO ME!"  
_  
"I didn't do it, I swear, Mistress!"

And then, fast enough to give someone whiplash, Kongo was back to normal. The battleship very carefully placed Aoba down, and then waved before walking towards the stand. "Glad we had this talk!" she chirped.

It was at that point that Aoba's legs gave out and she collapsed bonelessly into a heap.

~o~

 _"Well. Now I'm glad Admiral Colombo is still on leave and doesn't have to deal with this."  
_  
Privately, King George V could agree with Roma. Just another stressor on a man who'd had too many. "Regardless, we need to do something about this," she said. "Kongo, you've confirmed that Aoba isn't responsible for this?"

 _"I had one of the techs look over her computer,"_ the Japanese battleship who'd assembled this group stated. _"The pictures were there, but the last time they were accessed was when she was in prison. Not only was it not her, whoever did this has been planning this for a while."_

 _"I still say we should pool our resources with our officers,"_ Ashigara interjected.

 _"And you were outvoted,"_ Bismarck sniffed. _"So please, drop it."_

Both Ashigara and Roma sighed at that, but they didn't try to object. No point in rehashing that old argument.

"Anyway, the biggest question is how our mystery thief managed to get pictures from _all_ of our navies," King George V stated to draw the conversation back on track. "San Diego and Yokosuka, yeah, that makes sense, but also hitting Scapa, Taranto, and Wilhelmshaven, too? You'd basically have to circumnavigate the planet to pull that off."

 _"Most likely, the pictures were collected slowly,"_ Roma stated. _"It would explain the gap between the culprit taking Aoba's old pictures and the release of the calendar."_

 _"We're also assuming the culprit is a shipgirl,"_ Bismarck pointed out. _"A sailor would have more freedom of movement now that Japan's getting enough oil for regular commercial flights again."  
_  
"We wouldn't let a Japanese sailor just waltz into Scapa," King George V countered. "And I doubt any other base would, either."

The argument grew progressively more heated after that, until a half hour later they all adjourned in the admission that they really didn't know much. Clues first, and then they could talk it out again.

~o~

"Wow," Algerie muttered, her face firetruck red.

"You said it," Asuna Takamori, better known in most circles as the aircraft carrier Aso, agreed. Algerie's new friend looked considerably less worn than when the two had first met. The wonders of a new wardrobe and a more steady bathing schedule. "How'd you get to keep this? You'd think they'd-"

"Confiscate them?" Algerie shrugged. "I guess everyone's too busy being angry to confiscate them. We're all just enjoying this while we can."

Nodding, Asuna flipped back to June. No wonder Kongo was so obsessed with Admiral Goto. You could grind _meat_ on those abs. And _dat ass...  
_  
Still, as much as she was enjoying this, it still begged the question of who the hell had done this. Her mind quickly ran through the candidates even with most of her attention occupied by this USDA Prime selection of beefcake, and quickly settled on the Yanagi-mission submarines. Yuu and Hachi were quickly discarded as suspects on personality. Most of the rest were quickly ruled out for having sunk far away from home. That tended to color perceptions on long-distance travel.

Which left only one candidate.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go check on some frozen food I left out to thaw," Aso said as she stood. "But, uh, hang onto that calendar, will ya? I still haven't seared those images into my brain yet."

"Sure thing!" Algerie chirped.

Suppressing a twinge of guilt at lying to her friend (moreso than usual), Aso left. She had a submarine to find.

~o~

Three days later, Aquila delivered a bruised submarine in a Japanese school swimsuit with the characters "Ni" and "Kyu" stenciled on the front. Nestled between the sub's large breasts was a hard drive, wrapped in a laminated note that merely said "You're welcome".

"Yeah, I don't know either," Aquila stated.

"Well, might as well look into what we've been given," Roma sighed, plugging the hard drive into her computer.

Fifteen minutes later, she was making calls to Bismarck, Kongo, Ashigara, and King George V.


	156. Rule 2529

**Rule 2529. "I have homework to do" is not a valid reason to get out of a sortie.**

Sazanami glared at her history homework like it had done her a personal insult. Why did she have to do homework?! She was a destroyer, designed to fight! Why did she need to know how Tokugawa Ieyasu had reorganized Japan socially after the Sengoku Jidai? At least before they were talking about battles and warrior monks and fun shit like that. And even if the war ended and she entered the civilian life, she was already making some decent income off her doujins and she had plans to enter the manga industry. Shipgirl physique would certainly help there.

In fact...

Slowly, she glanced towards her computer, and it was only with an effort of will that she wrenched her gaze back to her computer. No. Doujin writing would have to wait, for the wrath of Kashima was swift and terrible if you didn't do your homework. With renewed determination, she went back at the homework; after all, the sooner she finished it the sooner she could get back to drawing.

No sooner had she completed a single question when sirens began blaring, followed shortly by Kuma throwing open her door. By the fact that her shirt was on upside-down, there was a towel wrapped around her head and a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, and she was hopping on one leg while trying to shove her other leg into her shorts, she'd been caught just as off-guard as the destroyer.

"Sazanami, drop what you're doing and get on the water, kuma!" she barked. "We're under attack!"

Mentally, Sazanami dropped several curses in rapid succession. Between homework and a sortie, there was no way she was doing _any_ doujin work today!

Hmm...

"Can't, homework!" she replied, holding up the work in question.

Kuma frowned, and then Sendai poked her head in, looking far less disheveled. "Hatsuyuki tried that argument, so it's automatically invalid!"

"Damn!" Sazanami spat.

~o~

With Sazanami now heading for the water, Sendai took one last detour to pick up one last destroyer. Admiral Goto had specifically called this an "All hands on deck" situation; even Ooyodo, Kashima, and Katori were gearing up. That meant she had to get Fubuki, who last she'd heard was holed up in her office doing studying of some kind.

Once she reached said office, she raised her fist and pounded on the door. "Yo, Fubuki, we've got an all hands on deck situation!"

After a moment of silence, a muffled reply of "Studying!" Sendai rolled her eyes. When had _that_ become the excuse of the month? That was the sixth destroyer who'd given that excuse.

"Hatsuyuki tried that, your argument is invalid!" she snapped. Nothing. Sendai gave it a solid half-minute before she raised her leg and kicked down the door. "Now come on, we-!"

The night battle specialist had just enough time to see the very large book flying towards her before it nailed her square in the center of her face, spine-first. The resulting momentum transfer sent her flying back and then head-first into the wall, cracking the reinforced concrete.

"WHAT PART OF 'STUDYING' DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!" Fubuki screeched, her hand still flung forward from the throw.

"Uncute little brat..." Sendai groaned.


	157. Rule 2531

**Rule 2531. Online shopping is banned. Again.**

Mendoza groaned as she looked over the latest economic reports on Bolivia. The good news: the Abyssal war had jacked up prices on all sorts of raw materials, raw materials that Bolivia was making quite a lot of money exporting. The bad news: most of that money was flowing into large corporations and the cities, while most of the population still lived in rural villages. And those rural villages were steadily collapsing for lack of economic benefit. And once they collapsed, where did the people go? To the cities, and the transportation and processing industries that had sprang up to serve Bolivia's exports, straining their existing infrastructure.

And the economics of the country were just the biggest headache her ownership of Bolivia was netting her. She didn't want to imagine what she'd have to deal with if she hadn't kept the government intact.

"Regret..." she groaned. "So much regret..."

Slowly, she reached into her desk and pulled out a document, basically a receipt for the entire country. Yes, owning the entire country was a mistake and a half and the source of a persistent migraine, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it. She had a _responsibility_ now; La Argentina had been able to drum that much into her head. And more importantly, who would buy Bolivia off of her?

Then again... she'd basically reached the end of her wits in improving the country, and the Americans had a saying: a fool and his money are soon parted. Firing up her computer, she went on Amazon and started creating an offer page.

~o~

"YAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Fubuki and Ooyodo both jerked at the scream Inazuma had let out, and they shot to their feet and sprinted for the small office she had. Within minutes, they had thrown open the door, and found the destroyer sprawled on the floor in a dead faint, foam bubbling in her mouth.

"What in the world-?" Ooyodo began.

Fubuki pushed past the light cruiser and scanned over the documents scattered on Inazuma's desk, picking up a newspaper. "BOLIVIA CHANGES HANDS - AGAIN!" the headline declared, the article below identifying the purchaser as the cruiser HMS Nigeria, and the price was-

Fubuki blinked. That couldn't be right. That was way too many zeroes, even for an entire country. Regardless, now Nigeria owned the country, and Mendoza was apparently on record as saying that she hoped the British cruiser could do a better job stewarding the country than she did.

"Well, that explains that," Fubuki stated. "A shocking waste of money."

Ooyodo blinked in comprehension. "Ah, yes, she does have a problem with that, doesn't she? I'll get the smelling salts."

~o~

Johnston and Heermann giggled together as the sounds of severe intestinal distress filtered through San Diego. Those sugarless gummy bears really did the trick! Well, that and leaving them out in a bowl with a sign saying "DO NOT TOUCH". Nobody could resist an offer like that.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, admitting a very angry Wisconsin. "Hey, girls," she crooned as the two destroyers fought to keep their reactions from going out of control. "Guess who just backtraced your search history and credit card logs?"

On second thought, their reactions were the least of their worries.

"EVERY SHIPGIRL FOR HERSELF!" Johnston shrieked, throwing herself at Wisconsin like a facehugger. Heermann took the smarter option and threw herself out the window.

Naturally, Wisconsin slapped Johnston out of the air, and as she went through the glass Heermann felt justified in being smug about her superior instincts. Then she saw who was waiting for her on the ground below.

"Oh, I immediately regret this decision," she groaned as she slowly fell towards the waiting arms and 5" turrets of San Diego.

~o~

"So, what'd your girls buy?" Roma asked, making another note. A kidney. A kidney! Not for the first time, the battleship felt sorry for Admiral Masson.

 _"A titanium fuel tank from the Apollo 18 command module,"_ Admiral Briggs said in a weary voice. _"I only found out because they promptly used it to go to town on a Moon Landing Deniers' convention."_

 _"Those_ exist?" Admiral Graham asked, sounding bewildered. _"You Yanks are strange."_

"Don't even get me started..."

Admiral Holloway sighed. _"Anyway, all in favor of banning online shopping? Again?"  
_  
The chorus of ayes among the gathered admirals was unanimous and immediate.


	158. Rule 2543

**Rule 2543. Nagato! Release those Cost Guard Cutters immediately!  
**  
USS O'Bannon warily eyed USCGC Cayuga and Itasca, who were both three beers deep, and not stopping anytime soon, judging from the way they were chugging their pints of Guinness like it was Greek ambrosia.

Finally, the two came up for air, and O'Bannon quickly set about refilling their mugs. "So, what brings you guys to this side of the pond?" she asked.

"Fucking Hamilton!" Cayuga shouted, throwing her mug up and spilling beer all around her.

"Confound that cutter, she drives me to drink!" Itasca agreed, before downing the contents of her mug in one massive chug.

Well, that answer only raised further questions. And as a licensed bartender, it was her job to ask those questions, in the interest of ru- in the interest of helping them resolve their problems! To that end, as she cued up some more Guinness, she casually asked, "What about Hamilton?"

Cayuga finished her drink, and said, "Well, this's a good example..."

~o~

 _"Alright," Cayuga informed Itasca and Hamilton. The trio were parked behind a fortuitous van outside a small munitions depot, drunken giggling wafting from inside. "We'll need to take this slow. The last thing we want to do is-"_

 _Suddenly, Hamilton shot out from their cover, kicked down the door, and shouted "I am the Law!", nightstick brandished in one hand. Immediately, panicked screaming and a lot of ominous clanging sounds emanated from the building._

 _"Startle them..." Cayuga finished lamely._

 _"Don't just stand there, get in there before something blows up!" Itasca snapped._

~o~

O'Bannon winced. Yeah, that would drive people to drink. "And how long's she staying over in Norfolk?"

"Indefinitely!" Itasca declared in an absolutely terrible impression of Admiral Briggs. Hell, she could barely tell it _was_ an impression.

"I give it two months before one of us murders her and burns the body," Cayuga groaned.

"May I make a suggestion that doesn't involve homicide?" O'Bannon chimed in. "Because I have a way to get that cutter out of your hair mostly risk-free."

~o~

Mutsu stared at the scene before her. Once again, Nagato had gotten her hands on a small, adorable shipgirl, one the battleship recognized as an American Coast Guard cutter. This cutter, though, was having a somewhat different reaction than the usual...

"Release me! I am the Law!" Hamilton snapped, ineffectually trying to tear herself out of Nagato's grip. "You can _not_ dress the Law in cute outfits!" **  
**  
"I disagree!" Nagato cooed, holding up a white, lacey Gothic Lolita number in her free hand. "Now hold still while I put this on you!"

Standing somewhere away from those two was Hoppo-chan, and she and Mutsu exchanged a look. Hoppo immediately marched towards the two, while Mutsu exited. "Now, where's Admiral Goto right now...?" she muttered, ignoring the sounds of combat that erupted behind her.


	159. Rule 2544

**Rule 2544: Everyone is to stop drinking Instant Repair Buckets as hangover cures. While it** ** _works_** **, we have more important uses for them than your headache.  
**  
Hiyo poked her head into her sister's room, and sighed. As usual, her sister was sprawled on her bed in her disheveled day outfit, stinking of stale alcohol and audibly snoring. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. But normally, the two weren't called up to sortie early in the morning due to half of Japan's carriers still sitting in the repair docks.

Of course, being Junyo's sister, Hiyo had a good-sized arsenal of methods to wake her sister up in these situations. Stepping out of the room, she picked up a large metal pot and a battered steel ladle the mess hadn't minded giving up. Items in hand, she stepped into her sister's room and began banging the ladle against the pot.

"Rise and shine, sister!" Hiyo announced. "We have a sortie in thirty minutes!"

In response to the noise, Junyo rolled over and pointed a bleary, bag-decorated eye at her sister. "Sis..." she groaned. "Why...?"

"I just told you why," Hiyo replied with no sympathy whatsoever. "Now up and at 'em! Or I go back to the banging!"

"Just... be quiet, please..."

Seeing as her sister was making an effort to get to her feet, Hiyo fell silent and just waited. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Junyo was on her feet and rooting through one of the many piles of junk that decorated the carrier's floor. The point of this exercise escaped her, though she dearly hoped it wasn't to find some fresh clothes. No way anything in those piles was fresh. Instead, Junyo popped up after about a minute triumphantly holding a bucket.

"Yes!" she crowed, only to cringe and clutch her head. "Ow. Bad idea..." With that, Junyo put the bucket to her lips and began chugging.

Right before Hiyo's eyes, Junyo's unhealthy pallor faded in favor of smooth skin, the bags vanished, and her posture noticeably improved. No surprise, honestly; Hiyo had recognized the bucket the instant it appeared.

"Sister," she said, one eyebrow twitching. "Don't you think using a repair bucket to fix your hangover is a waste of resources?"

"Hey, it's this or I sortie with a splitting headache," Junyo said dismissively as she headed over to the bathroom. "I'll be out in fifteen minutes!"

~o~

Aaron Jones moaned as a battalion of giant stompy robots practiced marching on his soft, sensitive brain matter. Or, at least, that's what his current hangover felt like.

"Knew I shouldn't have had that last jello shot..." he groaned.

In truth, that last jello shot had been merely the straw that had broken the camel's back, and the many, many bars he and his buddies had hit celebrating one of their birthdays had far more to do with the apocalyptic hangover he was now enduring. At least they'd all had the foresight to arrange a few day's leave in advance.

Because with this headache, he'd need it to recover.

"You look like shit, man."

Blearily, Jones rolled over and opened his eye, spying his roommate, Steven Nelson, standing over him.

"I feel like it..."

"Well, since I'm such a magnanimous soul, I have a solution for you." Jones cracked an eye open again, seeing Nelson holding up a repair bucket with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Izzat a repair bucket?" he mumbled.

"Yup," Nelson nodded. "Now, lean your head back."

After a few false starts, Jones managed to do so, Nelson promptly pouring the contents of the bucket down his throat. Once the last drop was swallowed, both men froze - and then Jones promptly turned orange and collapsed out of his bed.

"Shit!" Nelson yelped, sprinting out the door. "Medic!"

~o~

"Admiral, I have today's- merde!"

Commandant Teste, Toulon's secretary ship, immediately rushed to Admiral Masson's side, quickly and to her relief confirming that her admiral was still breathing, as well as that she reeked of cheap wine. The seaplane tender picked up one of the bottles and wrinkled her nose at the label. American.

Regardless, she reached over and gave her admiral a shake. Masson groaned, and then sat up, blinking blearily. After a moment, she lifted a finger, and leaned over under her desk, rummaging for something. This lasted just long enough for Teste to get worried before Masson popped back up, a repair bucket in her hands. Teste blinked.

"Wait, Admiral, are you-"

Confusion rapidly turned to panic as Admiral Masson upended the bucket and began drinking. That panic slowed her enough that she didn't reach the bucket until it'd been drained down Masson's gullet.

"Merde!" Teste swore. "Admiral, we've got to get you to... a... medic..."

"Nah, I'm fine!" a suddenly perky Masson replied. "C'mon, did you really think I'd do that if I wasn't sure it was safe?"

Not replying, Teste snapped her fingers, Provence suddenly popping up out of nowhere. The eager grin on her face was _not_ reassuring.

"... Would you two listen if I ordered you not to do anything?" Masson tried.

"Nope~!" Provence chirped. "Not when we have a mystery of SCIENCE! to solve!"


	160. Rule 2545

**Rule 2545: Abyssals are not to be kidnapped and used for playing dress-up. Under any circumstances.**

An albatross made an albatross noise overhead, and Isolated Island Princess, fourth of her line, flinched and fired all her guns in the direction of the sound. The albatross promptly vanished in a spray of meat, blood, and feathers, but that did nothing to calm the Abyssal's frazzled nerves. There was a reason she was the fourth of her line, after all; the first Isolated Island Princess had gotten ganged up on by every carrier the Americans had, lingering in agony as bombs lashed her form until Midway's Intruders had finished her off with 30 2000-lb bunker-busters, and the second had gotten a nighttime visit from Nagato, Mutsu, Yamato, and Musashi, finished off with Yuubari's Gundam. The death of the third had probably been the most terrifying, the Russians and Americans running their SSGNs thirty miles away from her and then unloading their missiles, Midway embarking a fairy-ized Growler to paint her.

What this left was one extremely paranoid Isolated Island Princess, one that hoarded her mobile forces next to her and basically acted as a slightly mobile and very large mine for shipgirl forces to stumble upon. At least, that was what she told the Director. In reality, she hadn't stumbled across any-damn-thing, and she was eternally grateful for that. Hopefully it would continue.

"Hey."

Isolated Island Princess froze in terror. Her Abyssals didn't talk to her. And that definitely wasn't the Director. It was a shipgirl. Had to be. She was dead. So dead. Painfully dead. How painfully? What would they do to her? Was it the firebrand Phoenix, here to test her latest unholy creations? Was it the legendary Nagamon, whose fell deeds were whispered of in the darkest depths of the Abyss? Naka, with her singing? The Invincible Soldier Enterprise? The-

The incongruous thought that the shipgirls had a lot of hero units floated through her mind.

"Yoo-hoo?"

Welp, so much for Plan A, "Ignore the shipgirl until she goes away." Plan B was still being formulated, and in lieu of a plan Isolated Island Princess slowly turned around to at least see what her doom looked like.

As it turned out, her doom was an American in a cardinal red and white sport bikini. Submarine. Somehow, Isolated Island Princess didn't feel much better.

"Sorry about this, but I'm here to kidnap you," the submarine informed the Abyssal.

Sighing, Isolated Island Princess steeled her spine and prepared her heart for- wait a minute.

[You're... not here to kill me?] she wondered.

"I couldn't kill you if I tried," the submarine scoffed. "And frankly, we have bigger fish to fry. No, like I said, I'm here to kidnap you."

Isolated Island Princess blinked, and then she slumped to the water. [Oh thank the Maker... right, how are we doing this?]

A canvas bag promptly covered her vision.

[Right...]

~o~

Isolated Island Princess hummed a wordless tune to herself as Los Angeles fussed over her with makeup and various hair tools. Honestly, being a living dress-up doll was _way_ better than living in fear of being horribly murdered every second of the day. It wasn't treason like many other Abyssals, she told herself; she'd been _kidnapped,_ after all, and common sense dictated that trying to break out of San Diego with most of the Pacific Fleet still there was a suicidal endeavour.

"Aaaaaand... done!" Los Angeles declared, swinging Isolated Island Princess around to look in the mirror. The Abyssal gasped at the sight; she barely even recognized herself! And with the outfit...

"Honestly, you could probably be a model of some kind," Los Angeles remarked. "Especially in East Asia; they really love the porcelain skin look."

[I'll... think about it,] the Abyssal hedged. [Anyway, what's next?]

"I think we're done for the day, actually. If you want to, we can-"

Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, a Ne-class heavy cruiser burst through the door and tackled Los Angeles to the ground, snarling.

[Princess, run!] the Abyssal shouted as she struggled to hold back the far more experienced American. [I'll hold her off, but we don't have much time!] So focused was the Ne-class on her struggled that she didn't notice the Princess walk up to her and then grab her neck, before turning her spinal bones to powder with one squeeze. That done, Isolated Island Princess glanced out into the hall, where San Diego's cruisers were brawling with her old Abyssal subordinates.

[Idiots...] she growled. [I'm not going back to that life, you hear me?! Never!] And with that, she waded into the fight.

It didn't last much longer after that.

~o~

Admiral Holloway groaned into his arms. Multiple incidents, and they _still_ couldn't secure the damn base against infiltration!

"Please tell me the attackers are all dead..."

"They are," Wright confirmed. "We've got several cruisers in dock, but otherwise we got off pretty lightly on this one."

"And... how did they get in?"

There was no answer, and very reluctantly Holloway looked up to find Wright grimacing. "We... don't know, sir."

"You don't know," he repeated, voice flat.

"No, sir."

"We've just discovered that we have a massive hole in our security, and you don't know where it is."

"Yes, sir."

Holloway stared at Wright for a long minute before reaching under his table and pulling up a bottle of whiskey. "Well, it's five o'clock somewhere," he muttered as he opened the bottle. "Bottoms up." And with that, he gulped down a good third of the whiskey. "Anyway, where's that Princess Abyssal? Y'know, the one who attracted these assholes in the first place?"

"She's heading up I-5 to Los Angeles, if I remember her itinerary correctly," Wright replied.

Once again, Holloway could only stare at his secretary ship. "Los Angeles," he parroted flatly.

"Yes, sir. Los Angeles. I understand several fashion companies have approached her for an interview."

Holloway held his dead-eyed, thousand- _mile_ stare for another minute before bringing the whiskey bottle back up. "Well, it makes as much sense as anything else in this job," he declared, before upending the bottle and chugging down the remainder within.


	161. Rule 2546

**Rule 2546. To the various pyros amongst the returnees; "** **It could be** ** _more_** **on fire** **" really shouldn't be the first thing that crosses your mind in any circumstance outside of combat.**

"So," HMCS Ontario stated, one eye twitching. "Give me _one_ positive way to spin this. Just _one._ Do that, and maybe I won't escalate this to Admiral Lombard, Admiral Holloway, and Admiral Collingwood at once."

"This" was the island she and Phoenix, Haida, and Vanguard were standing a couple of miles from. An island that, until recently, had been useful mostly as a bird hatchery and sightseeing landmark. Now, it was on fire from shore to shore, oily black smoke rising above the crackling flames.

"Well, it could be _more_ on fire," Vanguard helpfully pointed out.

Obviously, Ontario did _not_ find that helpful, given that her eye was twitching even faster now. "What."

"Well, I mean, the island's on fire, but it'll take, like, a decade or something for it to burn completely down to the water," Haida chimed in. "If we really wanted to, we could have probably arranged for it to be melted down to sea level in thirty minutes."

"Twenty," Phoenix corrected. "Also, the water's not on fire, so this isn't going to spread."

The characteristic "Bang!" of a steam explosion echoed over the surrounding islands, said steam rising above the edge where water met blazing land.

"'Course, that's 'cause it's too busy exploding whenever it touches the island," Phoenix amended.

"RAAAAAGH!"

All three pyromaniacs glanced worriedly in Ontario's direction, as the cruiser had just screamed and thrown up her hands and was now speeding around like a particularly stupid PT imp, still screaming. Vanguard and Phoenix were all ready to ignore it, but Haida, who did have a connection to the cruiser, decided to try something.

"Um, Ontario...?"

That was a mistake, as the light cruiser promptly whirled around and decked Haida square in the forehead, dropping her into the water. "ANYONE ELSE?!" she roared.

"Nope, nope, we're good!" Phoenix and Vanguard frantically assured her.

~o~

"Y'know..." the Director remarked as she watched the traitorous Ta-class sprint across the water, burning and screaming. "As nice and cathartic this is... it's missing something. I can't quite put my finger on it..."

[I agree,] Supply Depot Princess said. [And I think I know what the problem is.]

The Director turned her head and quirked an eyebrow at her second. "And that is...?"

[Well, just look at her,] Supply Depot Princess replied, waving her hands at the burning Ta-class, now unsuccessfully trying to stop, drop, and roll. [She could be _more_ on fire.]

The Director blinked, and then looked back at the flailing Abyssal, frowning in thought. The thesis was promptly proven when, not two seconds later, the battleship stopped flailing in favor of turning a glare at the Director. While still on fire.

[You...] she snarled, half in pain and half in raw, undistilled _hate._ [You created us... as _tools..._ to die for _your_ vendetta... The humans have been far nicer to me than you ever were, and if I'm going to die here, I'm going to die standing on my feet and spitting my defiance in your face!]

"Five."

The Ta stopped, blinking. [Eh?]

"That's the fifth time I've heard that particular heroic speech," the Director elaborated, though she was more focused on examining her own fingernails. "I keep track. So, if you're done boring me, can we get this over with?"

Gritting her teeth, the Allied Abyssal charged for the redhead, guns loading to-

The charge was abruptly aborted by Supply Depot Princess grabbing the Ta in her massive hands. [Bored now,] she said, before squeezing. The Ta screamed, and then fell limp as most of her torso was reduced to the consistency of fresh jelly.

"I could have handled that, y'know," the Director remarked as her aide dropped the body and waved her hand to get the blood off.

[Let me have the moment, I barely get to fight,] Supply Depot Princess sighed, before perking up. [So! More on fire?]

Her smile was matched tooth for tooth by the Director's. "I've picked up some literature on fluorine-sulfur compounds that looks promising..."


	162. Rule 2548

**Rule 2548. If it's worth saying once, it's worth saying a million times: All Science! ship girls and pyromaniacs are responsible for cleaning up their own messes. Cleanup teams are to be sent in only after you tried and failed to do so.**

Crackling electricity and the smell of ozone permeated the air as Provence typed in a last few commands before grabbing the lever to activate the DNA Recombinant for her latest experiment. "One small step for a-" she began, before frowning. "Nah, that doesn't work. At last, I will- No, that doesn't work, either." Shrugging, she decided to go with a classic. "FOR SCIENCE!" And with that, she pulled the lever down.

The crackling and smell of ozone intensified, this time joined by a smell of burned poultry, as the machine shuddered and hummed. Finally, after several minutes, it went silent, and Provence eagerly skipped up to the doors and threw them open.

SPLUT!

Blinking slowly, Provence reached up and wiped the blood and viscera off her face, taking in the scene in the Recombinant. The inner chamber looked like a slaughterhouse, the walls painted with blood and liberally decorated with feathers, bone chips, and giblets.

"Well, that didn't work," she very calmly remarked. "And I should probably get a cleaning crew in here while I clean up myself..."

To do that, she quickly wiped her hands off and hit a number she'd put on speed dial a while back to call in maintenance and played the recorded message she'd made at the same time while she took a shower. A long, very hot shower.

And so it was she exited half an hour later to find the mess still there and a sticky note attached to her desk saying " _You_ clean your shit up." Briefly, Provence contemplated pressing the issue. Then she remembered the _last_ person who had tried to bully maintenance on _anything_.

"Poor Pluton..." she muttered, shuddering. Well, that mess wasn't going to clean itself. The battleship retrieved some rubber gloves and her cleaning agents, and went to work.

~o~

South Dakota opened one of the equipment lockers in the lab, intent on finding one of the quantum dot heat exchangers, only to have a black... bat-winged... blob thing with glowing orange eyes plop out and ooze on the floor. It was almost cute. It was also probably not supposed to be in one of their equipment lockers.

"PHOENIX!" South Dakota shouted.

"WHAT?" came the reply from across the lab.

Grabbing the blob thing and holding it up, the battleship shouted, "THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!"

Phoenix's head appeared from behind a large generator, frowning at the thing in her partner-in-crime's hands. Then she stood and walked over, still frowning. "Oh, that's one of the Icelandic lava demons," she said once she was close enough.

"The _what?"  
_  
"Vanguard introduced me to them," Phoenix explained as she reached over to scratch it under the chin. "They apparently live in the mantle most of the time, and pop up in active lava vents."

"I see..." South Dakota lied. "I'm not going to ask how you got this thing, but why was it stuffed in an equipment closet instead of properly disposed of?"

"Two reasons," Phoenix replied as she continued to scratch. "First, I honestly don't know how. Second..." A sunny grin spread over her face as the lava demon began to- purr?! "How could I dispose of him? He's so cute!"

Sighing, South Dakota raised her hand and chopped it down on Phoenix's head, eliciting a startled yelp from the cruiser. "Cute or not, lab safety is paramount!" she snapped. "So _find_ a way to dispose of it properly!"

"C'mon, he's harmless!" Phoenix protested.

Suddenly, molten rock burst out of one of the concrete walls, two more lava demons poking their heads out of the glowing hole they'd just made. Phoenix chuckled sheepishly even as South Dakota's eye began to twitch.

"I'll get a flight to Iceland set up..." she said.


	163. Rule 2549

**Rule 2549. You are not allowed to capture Abyssals for Abyssal cockfights.**

Once, the name Re-class inspired fear in humanity and awe and respect among Abyssals. Once, shipgirls would either retreat or switch to an all-out assault upon seeing one of them. Once, only the great Princesses and Demons surpassed them. And that's not counting the Mother, the Primordial, Wreck, who surpassed them all and sent fleets running with the mere rumor of her presence.

Once.

That was a long time ago, now. Now, shipgirls were fearlessly taking them on, and a frankly embarrassing number of them had simply defected to the other side. The only solace they had was that the rest of the Abyssal lines were suffering even worse.

 _[Still,]_ one particular Re-class, currently trussed up in sturdy fishing net, mused. [This _is a new low for us.]  
_  
Turning her head as far as she could, the Re-class glared at the back of her captor's head. Ikazuchi, sadly, didn't drop dead on the spot, and after a few seconds the Re slumped back into a relaxed position, her mind flashing back to how she'd gotten captured in the first place...

She shuddered. On second thought, best not to relive that humiliation. Losing to a _destroyer..._ and not even one of the really badass ones!

"I know what you're thinking," Ikazuchi suddenly spoke up. "Why couldn't it have been one of the badass ones?"

The Re-class' eyes widened in shock. [How-]

"Doesn't matter. The point is..." The destroyer looked over her shoulder, and the Re-class flinched at the fires that seemed to be burning behind them. No, wait, _literally_ behind them. "Don't overlook me just because all my sisters get in trouble the most often! Which is really ironic, but still, it pisses me off, being underestimated! You hang around everyone I hang around with, and you pick up some stuff!"

 _[Some stuff, indeed...]_

 _That_ was an understatement. The lightning, the swordwork translated into hand-to-hand and melded with what had to be Drunken Fist without the drunkenness... and the _presence._ Oh, the presence. Sensual and terrifying all at once.

[Yeah, yeah...] the Re-class muttered, trying to hide the shudder that ran through her. [Whatever. It'd be nicer if you could tell me where we're going.]

"You'll see!" Ikazuchi replied.

~o~

"We're late we're late we're late!"

"I told you you shouldn't have gotten that last bowl!"

"But I was hungryyyyyy!"

Akagi pinned Kaga with an angry glare as they continued to run down the halls of Yokosuka. "And if we miss the betting period tonight, I'm going to teach you what _real_ hunger is like!" she snarled.

"I'm sooooorry!"

The two carriers skidded around one last corner, and then down a ramp that wasn't there two hours ago, sliding down into a circular arena that was already awash with noise. Immediately, the two sprinted for a certain bespectacled figure almost lost in the crowd lining the arena.

"Katori!" Akagi gasped, skidding to a halt. "Did we-?"

"No, you just made it," the training cruiser stated. "Are you sponsoring or betting today?"

"Betting," Akagi replied. "Still haven't found a replacement for our old Wo, ever since Kiso's-"

The topic of Kiso's whatever-it-was would go unstated for at least a little while longer, as the woman herself tromped onto one of the boxes lining the very edge of the arena, Hokaze clinging to her arm in a rather stunning evening gown. Kiso promptly plopped down in a plush throne that dominated the box, Hokaze sprawling on the carpet around it. The crowd roared.

"Well, I'll hold off on any further bets until you've had time to peruse the list of contestants," Katori stated over the crowd noise. "But Kiso's Destroyer Water Demon is going first, so any bets you'd like to place there?"

"I'll place 5000 yen on it ripping its opponent's arms off and beating them to death with them!" Akagi announced, handing over the money to Katori.

"And I'll place 7000 on instant decapitation," Kaga added.

"Excellent," Katori said as she pocketed the money and wrote down the transactions. "Anyway, find a spot, and enjoy the show!"

"Right," Kaga nodded. "Akagi, would you-"

To her dismay, though, Akagi was already walking away. Crestfallen, Kaga turned and slowly walked the other way, her head hanging until she found an open spot along the railings. Kiso's Destroyer Water Demon was already on the arena floor, stretching its limbs, and Kaga wondered who its opponent would be this time, as well as wondering at the fact that it even _had_ an opponent. The Abyssal had proven damn near invincible so far, and most wranglers by now preferred not to pit their best against it.

Finally, though, the other door opened-

 _[A_ Water Demon?! _Are you mad?! I'm no match for-!]_

 _"Just get out there!"_

And a Re-class stepped out, head turned to look into the tunnel. The gate closing removed that option again, and it turned to its opponent, looking just a tad nervous.

As well she should. Powerful though a Re-class was, going up against a Water Demon of any variety was rather a tall order, especially without any planes.

"C'mon, Rae, kill that bitch!" Kaga heard Kiso shout out. And as if on cue, the going sounded.

Immediately, the Destroyer Water Demon sprinted forward, drawing- was that an Abyssal Steel knife?! Regardless, the Abyssal charged her opponent in a move that had taken down many of her hapless victims. The knife flashed forward, the Re-class not moving-

And then it _did_ move, hands flashing up to catch the Water Demon's wrists with the knifepoint mere inches from its forehead. And despite visible effort, the Destroyer couldn't move its arm. By now, the expressions were reversed: the Destroyer Water Demon looked nervous (and Kaga didn't blame her; she could already _feel_ her wallet getting lighter), while the Re-class finally sprouted its type's usual ear-to-ear grin. The Re-class' tail reached up, and clamped down on the immobile Water Demon's shoulder. And then the Re-class removed one of her hands.

The resulting beatdown is both too graphic for the websites this would be posted to and for most of the in and out of universe audience, the latter of whom looked away, retching. Even Kaga, who had seen far worse in both her lives, couldn't help but wince sympathetically. Kiso, of course, looked stricken, her grip cracking the handrests of her throne. Finally, a solid minute after her opponent had stopped moving, the Re-class stood and looked up to the silent crowd, Abyssal ichor dripping from its fists.

Wait.

No, up to Ikazuchi, who Kaga realized in a flash of insight was the Abyssal's sponsor. Slowly, the destroyer lifted her hand...

And the Kiso jumped into the arena and attacked the Re-class herself, the Abyssal nearly losing an arm to the cruiser's sword.

"Hey!" Ikazuchi shouted, jumping in herself and drop-kicking Kiso into a wall. Tenryuu followed, sword drawn and bellowing something that Kaga couldn't make out over the roars of the crowd, and then Hokaze jumped down, simultaneously trying to rouse her wife and also stripping off her dress to reveal spats and a sports bra under three pouch belts bulging with god-knows what. For a tense moment, no one moved. And then the Re-class turned and bolted for the tunnel, her former opponent slung over her shoulder, prompting Kiso to go after her and Tenryuu, Ikazuchi, and Hokaze to all leap into the fray.

"Yay, a fight!"

And then Take decided that this whole thing looked fun, and at that point the scene was utterly out of control. More girls were streaming into the melee every moment, but Kaga could also see, out of the corner of her eye, Katori slipping away for the nearest exit. To the carrier, this was an idea worth stealing. 7000 yen was a small price to pay to not be here when the senior staff inevitably came knocking.

~o~

"What the devil is that noise?" Ashigara muttered to herself.

Fubuki, Admiral Goto, Ooyodo, Inazuma, and Captain Yonehara all paused, listening. Indeed, there was some sort of roaring sound coming from... below them?

"I... have no idea," Fubuki admitted.

"Me neither, nanodesu."

With everyone looking around, it was inevitable that someone would spot the Re-class sprinting seaward across the base. "Uh, guys, we've got an Abyssal running away from us with someone on its shoulder," Captain Yonehara pointed out.

Frowning, Ooyodo stepped up to the window and hit her spotlight. "Oh, good," she sighed. "It's just another Abyssal she's carrying." A silent pause. "WHY IS AN ABYSSAL CARRYING ANOTHER ABYSSAL OUT OF OUR BASE?!"

"That does it," Goto growled, standing. "Meeting adjourned, go find the source of this disturbance and _shut it down._ By _any_ means necessary."

The glint that entered everyone else's eyes would have halted the underground melee in its tracks had anyone there seen it.


	164. Rule 2554

**Rule 2554. Just because you're low on provisions does not mean that you can attempt to eat the submarine** ** _Salmon_** **.**

Another day, another convoy that the US Navy had to escort. For once, though, this one wasn't traveling south along the Australian route or north around the coast of Alaska. No, this one was charging clear across the Pacfic, with a stopover in Hawaii to drop off some supplies. With the negotiations with the Central Princess mostly wrapped up and Marcus Island firmly within Japanese hands, the route was mostly safe except for some brief exposure to the Midway Princess' forces. And quite frankly, with San Diego handling the convoy run, they _wanted_ that Installation to stick her oversized nose into the convoy. The amount of escort they were giving the convoy was quite enough to handle her.

Just one problem...

"Sooooo hungryyyyyy..."

Distance. Or rather, distance in open ocean away from land.

See, in the normal convoy routes, shipgirls periodically had the locals of the coasts they passed by come out in ships to offer snacks. Snacks that, while not making much of a dent in their fuel reserves, did keep their very human stomachs from lodging protests.

Not so in the new cross-Pacific route, where the only form of sustenance were the various replenishing oilers (mostly shipgirls themselves), and they generally only forked over the oil when they actually needed it. Though the Americans didn't know this, those Japanese naval personnel following the convoy as it approached Hawaii had very smugly gotten one of their food ships attached to the return convoy's escort screen.

"So go talk to one of the oilers," USS Van Valkenburgh replied dismissively to the destroyer that had just whined. "Don't just whine about it."

"'M at half fuel," the first destroyer, USS Bearss (yes, really), complained. "They're not gonna let me. 'Sides, I don't wanna drink oil, I've been drinking nothing but oil f'r _days."  
_  
Valkenburgh rolled her eyes, even as she silently agreed with her sister. Sipping fuel oil for days on end _sucked_. Even if the oilers were kind enough to spice it. So did being awake that long, for that matter; thank God the Canadians had allowed the US Navy to license out those portable Tim Horton's or there'd be outright mutiny.

"Yeah, well, unless you can grab some fish out of the water or something, I'm afraid you're just going to have to suck it up, sis," Valkenburgh stated.

To her surprise, Bearss actually looked thoughtful at that. After a few seconds, the other destroyer closed her eyes and began lashing the sea with her sonar, something that was normally not left to the close-escort destroyers unless an attack was in progress. Puzzled, but not terribly concerned, Valkenburgh waited and watched. Soon, Bearss ceased the acoustic assault, and instead crouched down, eyes scanning the water. Her hands flashed out-!

And came out with a strong grip on a bikini top. USS Salmon's, to be specific. Luckily, hers was more substantial than the string tops many American submarines favored, and was in no imminent danger of either breaking or slipping, which gave her plenty of thought processing available to be outraged.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!"

"Hungry..." Bearss moaned, bringing the submarine closer to her mouth and opening it. Salmon immediately paled in fear.

At that point, Valkenburgh smacked her sister upside the head.

"Hey, what gives?!" Bearss yelped.

"Can't believe I have to do this..." Valkenburgh muttered. "Alright, repeat after me: submarines are friends, not food."

"Yes, what she said!" Salmon desperately agreed.

"Aww..." Bearss groaned, dropping Salmon back in the water. "But I'm still huuungryyyy..."

"Bearss, eat a Snickers," Salmon sighed, pulling a bar out of...

Okay, that was _way_ more than Valkenburgh needed to know about submarine storage methods. Regardless, Bearss took the candy bar and nearly swallowed it whole, immediately perking up. "Alright, let's go!" she declared, accelerating away.

Valkenburgh sighed indulgently and followed, making a mental note to alert the brass about this new thing.


	165. Rule 2558

**Rule 2558. The next ship girl to cause a power outage on base will be punished by powering the generators by bicycle until power is restored from the backup generators.  
**  
Ooyodo eyed the base's main generator, which was... entirely intact. Both the big diesel and the actual electrical generator. It was the main cable leading into the distribution system that was the problem. Clearly, maintenance had missed that the insulation coating was getting worn, judging by the large hole in the rubber, and the wires themselves had gotten soaked in some sort of fluid, at which point they had shorted out. An easy fix, especially with the backup generators ably handling the load.

Carefully, she turned her gaze back to Iku and Lieutenant Kamata, both shame-faced and thankfully now dressed, though the submarine's hair was still scorched and afro-ized.

"Well, as this was an accident, and the damage should be a quick repair job, I see no reason to add on another punishment," she stated, to the relief of both women. "Especially since I believe you, Iku, have been punished enough. I can't imagine an electrical shock to _that_ place would be very pleasant."

At the reminder, Iku whined and clenched her legs together, her girlfriend rubbing her hand on her back.

"Anyway, I'll escort you to Akashi so she can prescribe a fix and we can keep this all quiet."

That drew more sighs of relief at the couple, and Ooyodo relaxed, thinking that this incident was now over and it could be quietly wrapped up _without_ putting another entry on THE LIST.

~o~

"Why did I think that?" she groaned the next day. "I should know better by now, so why...?"

Little wonder she was thinking this, considering she was once again in the generator room inspecting the damage. Maintenance hadn't even gotten a chance to fix the wiring! Not that that mattered, considering Tenryuu had quite literally - and likely accidentally - smashed said generator into scrap with her ass. As for the accidentally part, it had been Kiso who had given Tenryuu's ass enough velocity to do the job, and the two were now locked blade-to-blade.

"Dammit, you stupid chuuniboat! I thought we were done with this!" Tenryuu snapped. "How did you even convince Hokaze to let you do this?!"

"I didn't!" Kiso fired back. "So add a sore tongue to the list of grievances I have with you!" What she'd just said suddenly caught up to the cruiser, and she turned crimson, Tenryuu smirking evilly.

"Oh? So that's how you did it, huh? Well, I may have to recommend certain websites to your-"

"ENOUGH!"

Both cruisers halted their verbal sparring in favor of staring at Ooyodo, who was by now _very_ annoyed with the two of them, and it showed.

"Which one of you attacked the other?" she growled. "And don't lie. I'll know."

Immediately, Tenryuu jabbed a finger at Kiso. "She did."

"H-Hey, I... uh..." The light cruiser glanced away, flushed in embarrassment this time. "Yeah, I can't really defend myself, can I?"

"Good." And with that, Ooyodo did something that promptly had both combatants putting away their swords so they could more efficiently scratch their heads. After all, it wasn't every day they saw someone pull a stationary bike out of their hold and plug it into the base's main power.

Once that was done, the secretary ship gave it a hearty thump. "Well? What are you waiting for, Kiso? Get to work?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, I get it!" Tenryuu exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "She wants you to use that bike to take over power generation!"

"Thank you for the exposition, Tenryuu," Ooyodo ground out. "But yes, that is what I want to do. Any objections?"

From her expression, the right answer was "no". So, Kiso wordlessly climbed onto the bike and began pedaling. Hard.

~o~

"This bites..." Lexington sighed.

"You're the one who broke the main generator," Saratoga admonished, not looking up from her magazine. Her elder sister was currently plugged into the base's power supply via a socket that, as it turned out, every turboelectric shipgirl had built into their upper thigh. In front of Lexington was a massive pile of high-calorie snacks; for all her bellyaching, that hadn't stopped her from steadily demolishing the pile.

"It was an accident!"

"And I believe you, but we still need power."

"Pff, what, is someone gonna attack us while the generator's out?"

As if on cue, the building shook, concrete dust raining down, accompanied by a roaring sound recognizable as heavy artillery.

"Does that answer your question?" Saratoga snarked. "Anyway, I'm going to go see what's going on. _You_ stay here; you're more useful providing power than in a fight."


	166. Rule 2559

**Rule 2559. If it hasn't already been said before. It bears repeating. NO TIME TRAVEL ALLOWED AT ALL!**

Deep in the Siberian wastes, the bright sunny day was suddenly rent by crackling, unnatural lighting. Arcs lanced out, scorching nearby plants and melting permafrost, mixing the smell of methane gas with the overwhelming stench of ozone. The lightning quickly coalesced into a circle, the center showing not the sky behind but an inky blackness. And then, as quickly as it had come, the lightning vanished, leaving behind scorched ground, the ozone smell - and a crouched, nude human figure.

Had there been a human observer present to see this figure, they would have immediately known what the portal had just spit up. After all, the chalk-white skin and ice-blue eyes revealed by the figure standing that were blazing with blue fire were kind of dead giveaways to her Abyssal nature. Of course, this hypothetical observer would have also been confused, as the Abyssal was utterly unlike any known. Not even the rarely-seen Martyr Empress looked like her.

As this new arrival finished standing, she paused, seemed to sniff the air, and then spun on a heel and began marching for Vladivostok. Her prey was in that direction. She could feel it. A breeze played over her skin, and suddenly she froze, shivering and grabbing her arms and pressing her knees together. On second thought, clothes first, and then she could go track her prey.

~o~

At the same time, hundreds of miles away, found Enterprise on a lawn chair in front of her and Yamato's Japan house. Sunglasses covered her eyes, and denim short shorts and a bikini top exposed plenty of skin for sunbathing. Yamato and Yoshino were busy trying to wear each other out at a nearby playground, giving her the chance to relax a bit.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched buzzing sound, and the carrier leaned up and tilted her sunglasses down. There, right in front of her, was another portal much akin to the one forming simultaneously forming in Siberia. Of course, this was Enterprise; the portal was nowhere _near_ the weirdest thing she'd seen in her time as a shipgirl. As such, she didn't really react as the portal flashed and deposited a nude woman kneeled on the grass.

However, when said woman stood and glanced over at Enterprise, the carrier sucked in a shocked breath. This woman looked like what she often imagined Yoshino would look like when she grew up, a blend of her's and Yamato's features, and built like a battleship. The only incongruity was her long black hair, flowing loose around her head and neck. How her blonde hair and Yamato's brown had produced _that_ was a mystery.

As the woman looked over at Enterprise, a full spectrum of emotions shot across her face. Enterprise managed to spy joy streaked through with grief before it was masked by other, unidentifiable emotions. Eventually, she settled on embarrassment, hastily covering up her chest and groin.

"Uh, hey mom," she said. "Can we, uh, go in and maybe get me something to wear?"

After a brief moment more of staring, Enterprise shook her head and clambered to her feet. "Yeah, c'mon, follow me."

Soon enough, they were inside, Enterprise rooting through Yamato's wardrobe while her apparent daughter sat on their bed, wrapped up in a towel.

"I think loose and stretchy is best until you can go shopping," Enterprise decided, pulling out a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. "You're close to Yamato's measurements, but not exact."

"And you know Mom's measurements just at a glance?" the woman said skeptically.

"Oh, trust me," E chuckled. "I have _very_ intimate knowledge of dear Yamato's measurements."

For a moment, the newcomer looked confused, and then her face twisted in disgust. "AH, DAMMIT!" the woman howled, falling on her back, clutching her eyes. "I did _not_ need that mental image! Someone get me a stake so I can stab out my mind's eye!"

Amidst the caterwauling, Enterprise giggled, then tossed the clothes on the bed so she could giggle some more. Rolling her eyes, the time-traveller quickly slipped the clothes on. "So, you're taking this well," she remarked.

"Hey, you be in this business long enough and you see it all," Enterprise replied, sitting on a convenient chair. "I distinctly remember Baltimore traveling back in time to try and keep that Irsay asshole from moving the Colts out of Baltimore. I'm more surprised you haven't tried to usher me to safety or had to fight off some time-traveling assassin on my front lawn." Her easy expression hardened into an annoyed scowl. "And you still haven't given me your name yet, young lady!"

"It's Akemi. I'm your third daughter," the newly-named girl stated, before letting out an annoyed huff. "I had this whole speech ready, but the Abyssal assassin didn't cooperate by actually being there to kill you!"

"And there's actually someone here to kill me?" Enterprise queried.

"Yes," Akemi said softly. "I'll explain more in detail when I can talk to the Admirals, but... we had her. We were assembling for a final offensive against the Director, even with all the resources she was hauling out of Antarctica. And then... and then she built the perfect Abyssal, and tossed it back in time."

"To kill me."

"To kill a _lot_ of people," Akemi amended. "This isn't Terminator. But yes, you were a priority target. Luckily, we'd captured the tech, and the Director sending her assassin back let us figure out what it did. So..." She shrugged. "Here I am. I expected to have to fight that Abyssal immediately, but... looks like I'm here for the long haul." She chuckled humorlessly. "'Course, that was always true. The travel's one way, so..."

"Yeah, about that."

Akemi blinked, staring at her mother with undisguised hope.

"See, apparently Yuubari's duplicator - which she still hasn't thrown out yet, I might add - doubles as a time machine as you turn it over," Enterprise explained. "It's probably less precise than the Director's tech, which is why they didn't use it in your timeline, but if you don't mind being off by a few months, you can use it to get back."

Akemi stared at her mother long enough that Enterprise started to get uncomfortable before suddenly tackling the carrier, sobbing loudly. Smiling, Enterprise simply stroked her time-travelling daughter's hair, making soothing noises. Slowly, Akemi's sobs quieted, and then she pulled back to wipe at her eyes.

"Thank you," was all she said. It was enough.

"No problem," Enterprise replied. "So, when do you think this assassin is going to get here?"

"Probably sooner than I hope," Akemi sighed. "I doubt the Director would dump her off halfway across the world, and she bred that Abyssal for lethality, intelligence, and an ability to blend in. I won't take her long to navigate the transportation network, and we probably won't see her coming."

~o~

[Excuse me, but if you're done screaming, can you tell me the way to Vladivostok?]

The Assassin sighed as the elderly couple she'd been trying to get directions from once again failed to answer. This was getting quite annoying.

Of course, what the Abyssal didn't quite notice was that both were quite dead. The husband was riddled with splinters from when she'd crashed through the wall, and the wife had suffered an immediate heart attack. The Assassin had simply propped them up in a pair of chairs and attempted to interrogate them. And, of course, it wasn't working.

Sighing, the Assassin gave it up as a bad job and went to work getting clothes and a meal. She'd ask again in the morning. And if all else failed, she could simply follow the call and the coast.

Enterprise would not escape her.


	167. Rule 2566

**Rule 2566. Yes, we know cruise liners are ship boys, that doesn't mean that Jun'you and Hiyou had a sex change.**

"Hmm..."

Mikazuki flinched at the sound coming from her sister, a sort of bored hum. Mochizuki was bored; not an uncommon occurrence, but more so than usual if she was actually vocalizing it. Or worse, she wasn't bored, and had latched onto some question. "What's up?" she asked, bracing.

Mochizuki didn't answer for a second. "Y'know how Olympic and Titanic are boys?" she queried.

 _'Aw, great.'  
_  
"Yeah? What about it?" Mikazuki answered with increasing dread. Idly, she followed her sister's eyes, which fell on Hiyo and Junyo. _'I think I know where this is going, and I don't like it!'  
_  
"And Hiyo and Junyo were converted from passenger liners, right?"

 _'Somebody pick up that phone, because I fucking called it!'  
_  
"They were."

With that answered, Mochizuki glanced towards her sister, face scrunched up in confusion. "So, did they get a sex change operation?"

Having seen this question coming, Mikazuki was able to not flinch or panic, and instead calmly answer the question with another question. "D'you know about Britannic?" was that question.

"Yeah, she's their-" Mochizuki blinked, eyes widening realization. "Oh..."

"Yeah, Titanic and Olympic are kinda exceptions when it comes to passenger liners," Mikazuki explained. "Summoning got messed with and everything. Trust me, those two were women from the beginning." The destroyer then turned a sunny grin on her sister, and began stroking her hair. "Also, I'm glad you didn't go up and just ask them. Good job."

Mochizuki grunted, but scooted closer to her sister and leaned into the hand stroking her hair.

"So, did your conversion give you a sex change?"

And at that point all sound and movement in the mess just _stopped_. Fumizuki was staring up with childlike innocence at Hiyo and Junyo, both of whom looked thoroughly poleaxed by the question. Junyo recovered first, grabbing the destroyer by her ponytail, at which point she proceeded to start gnawing at the destroyer's skull.

"See, that's why you were smart," Mikazuki pointed out as Fumizuki screamed. Mochizuki nodded.

~o~

A knock at the door jolted Aquila out of her intense focus, and she promptly whined in annoyance as the action caused the puzzle piece she'd been trying to slot in on her screen to go in _completely_ the wrong spot. "Come in!" she called, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

The door opened, letting destroyer Aviere, shuffling her feet in apparent shyness. The destroyer opened her mouth and closed it several times, and Aquila felt her lingering frustration get shoved out of the way by sheer maternal goodness.

"How can I help you?" she asked, putting on her best smile.

After a bit more shuffling, Aviere finally spoke. "Um... I-I heard from some of the French destroyers..." Once again she stopped, shuffling about, before shouting the next. "D-Did your conversion give you a sex change?!"

Aquila froze, a carefully blank expression sliding over her face.

"What."

"W-Well, N-Normandie just got summoned, a-and he's a _he_ , and then there's Olympic and Titanic, so I thought-!"

"I was not a guy, dammit!" Aquila snapped. Aviere promptly squeaked like a mouse and bolted out the door, leaving Aquila to slump into her chair.

"Not again..."


	168. Rule 2571

**Rule 2571. To all personnel, please congratulate Sendai for becoming an actual, official ninja. Yes, despite all odds she managed to convince a certain** **Kawakami, Jinichi-san** **to train her and succeed him as next Ninja Grandmaster.**

"Wait, there's an actual ninja grandmaster still alive?!"

"Yup!" Jintsuu replied, internally reveling in the gobsmacked expression on Sendai's face. "I stumbled upon some internet information on him completely by accident the other day, and I immediately thought of you. And you have some leave stored up, don't you?"

"I do..." Sendai breathed, eyes alight. "I can... I can go to him and become a _true_ ninja!" Surging across the table the two were seated at, she grasped Jintsuu's hands. "Sis! Tell me his name and where I can find him!"

"Well, his name is Jinichi Kawakami and he teaches ninjutsu at Mie University..."

"He _teaches_ ninjutsu?!" Sendai wailed, tugging at her ponytails. "How have I not heard this guy!?" Standing, she gave her sister a look of the purest determination. "Thank you, sister, for you have given me a chance at mastery! I shall return only when I have been acknowledged by Kawakami-shishou!" And with that, she charged out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

This did not perturb Jintsuu, who merely took a sip of her tea. The door rattled, and then opened, and Sendai poked her head in, looking sheepish.

"Hey, uh, d'you mind helping me pack?" she said.

"Of course."

~o~

As the bus that had delivered her there drove away, Sendai stared up at the cluster of buildings that was Mie university. Honestly, she'd expected that finding a true ninjutsu master would require scaling mountains in the deep wilderness, possibly during a driving winter blizzard. That she was instead in a major city psyching herself up to enter a national university was unexpected, but somewhat welcome. Scaling mountains in a driving blizzard might have been the properly dramatic way to do things, but this was infinitely more comfortable.

She shook her head. Stalling. That wouldn't do, now would it? With a confidence she didn't really feel, Sendai stepped over the threshold and into the university. No bolt of lightning tore through the sky to strike her down, and no explosives ripped her foot off her legs.

It was a sad testament to the times that _both_ were dangers that had to be seriously worried about.

A few passing inquiries directed her to Kawakami's office, and also told her that he was expecting her. Of course. Sendai wouldn't have expected anything less. Soon, she found herself outside his office, and raised her hand to knock.

"Come in."

And, once again, she found her estimation of the man rising a notch. She opened the door. Jinichi Kawakami looked remarkably ordinary sitting in his office chair, his only odd feature being his hair, still jet-black even this far into his sixties.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

That was her cue. Sendai kneeled down, and bowed her head, forehead touching the floor. "Please, Kawakami-san!" she cried. "Teach me the ways of ninjutsu!"

For a long moment, Kawakami did not answer. When he did, his voice was weary. "Stand, please." Sendai did so. He _looked_ weary, too. "Why not simply enroll in the university, if you desire to be taught those arts?"

"Two reasons," Sendai answered. "First, I honestly don't have the time between my usual duties to enroll in a university course. Second, I did my research before coming here, and I know that your work is more documentation than actual teaching."

Kawakami absorbed that, and then slumped into his chair. "The answer is no," he said, immediately putting up a hand to stop any protests. "This is no longer the Sengoku Jidai or Edo period, where the ninjas' ability to spy, to kill, and to mix medicines was useful. Here in the twenty-first century, none of that is necessary. We have guns, the Internet, and far better medicines. It has no place here. Let it die."

The explanation drew a grimace from Sendai, not least because it was a very good point. The abilities of a ninja were mostly superfluous these days, weren't they?

But she couldn't accept that. This was more than just a fancy of hers, a hobby, as other shipgirls had derisively accused. She truly did want to be a ninja, with her whole being. Hadn't she used what skills she had in-?

Ah.

There was the answer.

"I will concede that ninjutsu has no place in war as humans practice it," she said, slowly and carefully. "But I fight a different war. I fight a war in which the ninja way of killing and spying is still useful. The Abyssals blind sensors, their movements opaque. I personally know many shipgirls who have tallied the majority of their Abyssal kills in melee." She grinned sheepishly. "Though I will admit, the medicinal skills are probably not of much use to the war I fight."

The room was silent after Sendai's argument, the light cruiser willing the old ninja to see it her way. And then, a wistful smile broke over Kawakami's face.

"Ah, forgive a conservative old man, Sendai," he said ruefully. "I will admit that I never thought of that possibility." At once, the smile was gone. "This will be hard. As you said, you have little time between your duties, so I must be harsh. Harsher than I would be against mere flesh and blood. But if you can handle that, I promise you that you shall have the skills to be the next grandmaster. Do you accept!"

"Yes, shishou!" Sendai barked, saluting.

"Then-" Kawakami grunted, lifting himself out of his seat. "I must see what skills you possess, and what you must unlearn."

"Yes, shishou!"

~o~

Goto sighed contentedly in his chair. Sendai being on leave had knocked the usual craziness down a peg. _Just_ a peg. The craziness of Yokosuka was such that removing one shipgirl generally didn't do much. But any reduction was welcome.

He glanced at his desk, and then did a double-take. That certificate hadn't been there five seconds ago. Slowly, and with great trepidation, he reached over and scanned it over. Then he went white, as the certificate confirmed not only was Sendai now a certified ninja, she was also in line to succeed the last ninja grandmaster. Something began to bubble up in his gut, and he opened his mouth to release it.

"SENDAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIII!"


	169. Rule 2575

**Rule 2575. Going into battle naked does not give you any sort of magical protection.**

Things had been quiet in Portsmouth for a while. With the French Atlantic Squadron back to clearing up the South Atlantic along with the Argentinians, and no new Abyssal types crawling out of the woodwork, things had settled back into a comfortable routine. Granted, that routine still included such things as Revenge's rap obsession and Indefatigable's... _everything_ , but such things were now normal. Expected. Finally, Admiral Graham felt he had a handle on his command.

So when he looked out his window one morning and nearly spewed his morning tea all over the glass, his first thought was... well, his first thought was _'Aw, crap, she talked to Wasp, didn't she?'_ But his second was a wistful _'Goodbye, peaceful times.'_

For sprinting down the concrete at flank speed was the cruiser-minelayer Ariadne, and she was completely nude. Behind her, he could see Apollo and Abdiel sprinting after her with cover-ups of some kind, but they didn't seem to be having much luck.

 _'And someone's going to burst into my office in three... two... one...'  
_  
On cue, Manxman skidded past his door, and her hand flashed out to grab the frame, the entire wall creaking ominously as it arrested her forward motion. The minelayer moved back into the door a moment later, panting. "Sorry... Admiral... tried... to stop... her..."

Graham waved it off, saying "Catch your breath, first." Slowly, the desperate heaves moderated to deep breaths, and then vanished entirely. He nodded. "Alright. What, exactly, is going on here? Did Ariadne get converted to nudism by Wasp or something?"

"No, unfortunately," Manxman sighed. "That would make _sense_. No, she was cooking something, and suddenly her head began spinning on her shoulders, there was this green steam coming out of her ears, and then she was running out of our quarters stripping off her clothes and shouting 'SPEED IS ARMOR! SPEED IS ARMOR!' at the top of her lungs. And the worst part is, stripping off her clothes _has_ made her faster for some ungodly MSSB reason." She blinked, tilting her head. "Admiral? Are you okay?"

Admiral Graham was not, in fact, okay. Those symptoms sounded _exactly_ like a particular malady that cropped up from time to time in the Royal Navy, usually among Chief Designers around the time the design teams finished up the preliminary design and presented it for scrutiny. And to his knowledge, it was an utterly unique malady.

"Oh shit!" he suddenly shouted. "She's been possessed by the spirit of Jackie Fisher!"

Manxman reacted appropriately to that pronouncement, flinching back and gasping in shock - before confusion override the shock. "Uh, what does that mean?"

"It means she's going to keep running around like that until the spirit is exorcised or she gets shelled into oblivion," Admiral Graham answered. "Whatever comes first. The normal procedure would be to wrangle her into a dark room far from the sea, but doing that with a shipgirl is a very different exercise than an old, slightly senile man." He paused. "Also, I'd rather not have her think she's a potato and that the Admiralty is out to bake her."

"Uhhhhh..." Manxman intelligently replied.

"Anyway, what we really need is an exorcist. A _shipgirl_ exorcist."

"I've heard rumors..." Manxman replied thoughtfully. "But even if they are true, it'll take a few days for her to get here."

"We'll manage."

~o~

Two days later, Admiral Graham could only rest his head on his desk, trying to ignore the drill going at his skull. Ariadne had run around nude screaming her mantra the entire time, and in the process annoyed most of the residents of Portsmouth, nearly gotten killed and/or molested by Abyssals several times over, incapacitated most of the city's police, and tried to get some of the older shipgirls, in particular the Caledon-class cruisers, scrapped. He was basically at his wit's end.

The door opened. Footsteps reached his ears, as well as the rustle of cloth. The sounds stopped, and he glanced up at Exeter. "You like like shit, Admiral Graham," the heavy cruiser bluntly stated.

"I feel like it," he groaned, sitting up. "Have you been briefed on the situation?"

"I have," she said, before reaching into a pouch at her waist. "And I have just the thing..." With a flourish and bright grin, she produced a small model of a Mathilda Mk. II tank. "Ta da!"

Admiral Graham blinked. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep... "How is that going to help?"

"It is the culmination of everything Jackie Fisher hates," Exeter stated. "Slow, undergunned, overarmored, and is Army without having the ability to participate in his Baltic adventures. It'll drive him out right quick!"

Yup. Definitely lack of sleep. That almost made sense. "Right, just... go do it," Admiral Graham said wearily. "End this crisis."

"Sure thing!"

Sighing again, the Admiral slumped forward on his desk again, willing the sweet embrace of sleep to take him. He was just on the brink when-

"THE POWER OF MATHILDA COMPELS YOU!"

"SPEED IS ARMOR! SPEED IS ARMOR!"

Shouts drifted in from his open window. Snorting like an aggravated bull, Graham stood and walked over to the world, where Exeter was... bashing Ariadne over the head with the model tank. A streak of appreciation for its obviously fine craftsmanship rose up within him, and he quickly flipped his chair around so he could sit and watch. The nap could wait.


	170. Rule 2576

**Rule 2576: We don't care how awesome it is, mimicking what you see in video games is not allowed.**

[REEEEEEEEE!]

"Oh, shut up!" Tenryuu snapped, bringing her sword down on the Ri-class heavy cruiser in front of her. The Abyssal steel blade carved deep into the heavy cruiser from collarbone to hip, and Tenryuu smoothly shifted her blade to chop off one of its arms. This was immediately followed by shells from all four of her 5.5" guns finding purchase in the wound and exploding, killing the enemy.

Panting, and for the first time in a while not beset by enemies by all sides, the cruiser took the chance to catch her breath and take in the battlefield.

It was a mess. A _goddamn_ mess. Half of the combatants were locked in melee combat, the rest dueling with their guns at ranges Horatio Nelson and John Paul Jones would have considered "too close". It was a barroom brawl with the lights shot out. A nighttime kerfuffle between vicious alley cats.

Naturally, it was Friday the 13th this day.

Tenryuu barely got five minutes of rest before a ragged, ad-hoc Abyssal destroyer division began eyeing her, and, growling, she stood and raised her blade despite the shaking of her arms.

But before the fight could be joined, something began filtering through the air. A sound of... rocket engines? Yes, rocket engines. The entire battlefield froze as everyone began looking around for the rocket or rockets in question.

"Up there!" Teruzuki shouted.

There, where her finger was pointing, was a streak of flame soaring out of the sky. In fact... it was a really large streak of flame. It outdid even the big Russian cruise missiles. And as it got closer, everyone could see why.

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding me_ ," Tenryuu muttered.

The rocket was, in fact, a _space launch_ rocket, with a white nose, two white boosters, and an orange body. Perched on the nose and driving it down was a dark-haired, pigtailed girl, grinning a grin Tenryuu knew had been on her face before. And on top of it all, she could hear, rising above the roar of the rocket's engine, a very familiar electric guitar riff. And on that bombastic note, Suzukaze announced her arrival to the battlefield.

"REJOICE, EVERYONE, FOR A HUNDRED SHIPS HAVE JOINED THE FLEET!" she bellowed, Welcome to the Jungle blaring along with her. "AND DESPAIR, CREATURES OF DARKNESS, FOR I, SUZUKAZE, OPPOSE YOU!"

Finally shaking off their shock, Abyssal and shipgirl returned to trying to murder one another, ignoring the crazy person flying in on a goddamn _rocket_. That didn't last long before the rocket smacked into the sea, tossing bodies about. The impact must have set something off - liquid rocket fuel, whaddya gonna do? - for the rocket promptly exploded. Suzukaze, thrown by the blast, did a quite impressive flip, landed on the water, and then headbutted the first shell that flew after her, knocking it into the water to harmlessly explode.

Unfortunately, that action not only sent her a-staggering, but it also did nothing for the dozens of _other_ shells that screamed into her position and buried her under a field of shell splashes, followed shortly by her own screaming.

"Damnfool destroyer!" Tenryuu bit out, forcing her boilers to pick up steam. The Abyssal destroyers that had been attacking her before Suzukaze's admittedly grandiose and impressive entrance were sufficiently distracted that even with her low speed Tenryuu was through them with two dead before they could even react. Now clear and rapidly picking up speed, she charged not for Suzukaze, but for the Abyssals firing at her, thankfully mostly light units. The first offered no resistance, neither did any of the others she attacked, and Sendai and Kiso fared just as well once they, too, jumped the Abyssals.

Soon enough, all the Abyssals in the area were dead, and while Kiso and Tenryuu gave their blades a quick cleaning Sendai sprinted over to where Suzukaze had been, kneeling down. Both light cruisers heard the hiss of breath, and knew what it meant.

"How bad?" she said as she steamed up.

"See for yourself."

Looking around Sendai, Tenryuu winced; Suzukaze's human form was nearly unrecognizable, blood flowing from the many holes in her form. Her machinery was on its last legs, but it was still running, and they knew they wouldn't be letting her sink.

"Where'd she even get the idea for that entrance?" Tenryuu grumbled, shaking her head.

"Video... games..."

The light cruiser stared incredulously at the destroyer. "Take it from me, that's a really bad idea."

"Worth... it..."


	171. Rule 2579

**Rule 2579. All ship girls are now required to do a full 360 degree inspection around themselves before getting up if they have been sitting or laying in one place for an extended period of time. Your fairies have taken to dropping anchor and in extreme cases sending out berthing lines to keep your movements to a minimum, and as such getting up unexpectedly has resulted in extensive damage to furniture, flooring, walls, and smaller ship girls.**

Heermann and Johnston giggled like the children they were as they worked their permanent markers over Alabama's face. The battleship was sound asleep in a creaking plastic chair after the last cross-Pacific convoy run. The two tin cans had been, too, but as much as destroyers fought fast, lived fast, and got tired fast, they also recovered fast. A battleship under sufficient fatigue would sleep for days sometimes.

And Alabama hadn't made it to her room before collapsing, giving the destroyers a prime opportunity.

"Hmm..." Johnston mused as she capped off the tip of a drawn dick - the third she'd placed on Alabama's face. "I think that's enough of those, what do you think?

Heermann, who had just finished off writing "Big fat poopy head!" with an arrow pointing up, shrugged. "Whatever you say. I do think we should stop pushing our luck. Alabama's gotta wake up soo-"

Right on cue, the battleship snorted and began to stir. That still left the destroyers enough time to scamper off of her prone form and duck behind cover. By the time Alabama began to actually _rise,_ they were safely hidden behind a nearby corner.

As such, they very quickly noticed something odd trailing from her skirt pocket.

"That's a chain I'm seeing, right?" Heermann confirmed.

"Yeah..." Johnston answered thoughtfully. "But attached to what?"

The answer to that question was made readily apparent as the chain went taught, revealing that it was anchored to something in the concrete. _Literally_ anchored; both destroyers could see one of the flukes poking out of the floor. Alabama, still half asleep, decided that she wanted to keep moving, and made the simple expedient of piling on the horsepower.

As it turned out, the lowest-bidder concrete broke first. As did the walls when the slab that came up with the anchor came in contact with it, Alabama snorting and pulling like an angry bull. Both destroyers watched in awe as the battleship trundled down the hall, leaving an impressive path of destruction behind her.

"So... should we tell the Admiral about this?" Heermann offered.

"No way!" Johnston countered. "We tell Hoel. She'll tell the Admiral, and we won't get in trouble." She paused. "I think. But it's a better chance than going to the Admiral directly!"

~o~

"For fuck's sake, when did the Abyssals get this aggressive again?!" Nachi growled as the building shook. For the third time in as many weeks, an Abyssal force had snuck into Tokyo Bay and attacked Yokosuka, an offensive tempo they'd not pulled off in over a year.

"I don't know, but when I get out there, they're gonna wish they'd never been born!" Ashigara vowed. "Now we'll never get that date we had planned!"

The two heavy cruisers had been assigned to grab Nagato, Kongo, and a visiting Kidd, as they had, for reasons nobody on the command staff wanted to share, been asleep for a solid eighteen hours. Even Captain Yonehara had been tight-lipped, which more than anything convinced Ashigara that it wasn't something she wanted to pursue.

Given that they'd been assigned to the duty because they were closest, it didn't take the two cruisers very long to find them. Unfortunately, they were still visibly asleep, and their fairies had anchored them to the floor.

"Oi!" Nachi bellowed. "We're under attack! Time to wake up!"

None of them moved.

Nachi, growling, was about to stalk up to them and slap them awake, but Ashigara grabbed her by the shoulder before she could move. "Let me handle this," she said, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Hey! A cute child admiral with lots of ice cream just walked in!"

Immediately, all three twitched.

"Cute child?" Nagato muttered, eyes opening and the golden flames of Super Nagamon flickering around her.

"Admiral?" Kongo muttered, eyes opening, and a lecherous grin spreading over her face.

"Ice cream?" Kidd muttered, immediately shooting to her feet with half-lidded eyes.

"Oh, come on!" Nachi snapped. "That's just pathetic!" Growling, she shook her head. "Oh, whatever! We're under attack, you three, get moving!"

"But we're anchored!" Kidd protested. Odd, that. "I don't wanna get spanked again!" Ah, that'd do it.

More explosions rattled the building.

"Desperate times, now get going!" Ashigara snapped.


	172. Rule 2581

**Rule 2581. Kidnap Captain Yonehara at your own risk.  
**  
"Sis..." Fargo said weakly. "Is that Captain Yonehara?"

Fargo's sister Huntington glanced up at her, lips still pressed together for a kiss. The cruiser was straddling the unconscious Japanese officer, who was slumped bonelessly in a chair (rendering the tight ropes wrapped around him somewhat redundant). Bruises and a bleeding split lip decorated his face, and his uniform jacket was half-off, stopping at the ropes.

All in all, it was a very compromising situation, and Fargo counted her blessings that Huntington was still fully dressed.

"Uh, yes?" Huntington confirmed.

The two stared at each other, an awkward silence hanging over the room. Finally, Fargo decided it would be best to rip the conversational band-aid off. "Sis, did you kidnap him?" she asked.

"Yes!" Huntington snapped. "And I don't see what's wrong with it! Why does that stupid heavy cruiser get to monopolize this fine specimen?"

"Please don't talk about an officer like he's some lab animal..." Fargo groaned. "Y'know what? I wash my hands of this. You're going to have to face the consequences of this alone."

"Pfft, I can take her!"

Fargo paused in the doorway, and shot a smirk at her sister. "If it were any other Japanese heavy cruiser, I might agree with you." She paused, thinking something over. "Maybe not Furutaka and Kako. Anyway, there's a reason Ashigara's called 'The Hungry Wolf', and it's not just that man-starved phase she went through or her Spithead trip. Nice knowing you!" And with that, Fargo left.

Odd though this all was, Huntington just shrugged and leaned back in to her prize. "Now that we won't be interrupted~" she breathed. "Let's get to work~." After all, even if Ashigara did come after her, where would she even look? No way would the Japanese shipgirl be able to find her. More importantly, she was mere milliseconds away from lip-to-lip contact. Huntington's breath came in deep pants as she leaned in closer, and closer, and-

BOOM!

Suddenly, the windows blew open, spraying shards of glass everywhere. Huntington screamed and covered her head with her arms, but miraculously the glass never came near her. Well. It would be more accurate to say the glass didn't come anywhere near Captain Yonehara, and Huntington had positioned herself perfectly to enjoy that protection.

Once the glass finished falling, Huntington clambered off of her prize and marched up to the window, intent on giving whatever roughhousing destroyer had done that a piece of her mind!

There was no destroyer down on the ground. There was just a brown-haired, pencil-skirted heavy cruiser with her rigging out and an expression to impress a Dalek.

"Huntington!" Ashigara growled. "Hand over Captain Yonehara, and I'll only mostly kill you!"

For a moment, Huntington felt fear, but that was ruthlessly squashed. Captain Yonehara was hers now, dammit! She'd kidnapped him fair and square! To that end, she went back to Captain Yonehara and maneuvered him in front of the window.

"No chance! He's mine now!" Huntington taunted, waving the officer's limp body about. "You wanted to keep him, you should've made sure not to give me a chance to kidnap him!"

Though Huntington didn't know it, Ashigara could see Yonehara's bruised face from her vantage. All thoughts of mercy fled at the sight.

"Yoooooouuuuu..." she growled, hunching over. A blue-white aura sprung up around her, coalescing around clawed hands into a pair of spectral wolves. With a howl of rage, she jumped up to the window in one massive bound, Huntington backpedalling frantically.

It didn't help.

As the carnage commenced, we turn our attention to Louisiana, who was positioned away from Ashigara with a good line of sight and a bucket of popcorn she was munching on.

"Oh, what a show!" she said to herself. "Leading Ashigara to Huntington was my best idea yet!" A wet tearing sound ripped out, and the battleship winced. "Ouch."


	173. Rule 2585

**Rule 2585. Whoever placed those Carolina Reaper peppers in the destroyers' ice cream rations, please step forward before the older shipgirls gets you.  
**  
Once a day, San Diego was filled with the dulcet tones of 341 destroyers shouting "ice cream!" over and over, their feet pounding the concrete as they made tracks for their ice cream ration. Today, as happened on occasion, it wasn't Jerry handing out the ice cream ration, but some of the mess staff. This is important. The full court press of destroyers trying to get at the ice cream, also as usual, caused a traffic jam that allowed said staff to prepare the vast majority of the ice cream portions and then go out and deliver them personally. That cleared up the jam, to the relief of two particular destroyers.

"Finally!" USS Harrison groaned as she grabbed her ice cream. "They gotta do something about those jams."

"Mmph..." John Rodgers mumbled through her spoon. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she spat out the ice cream she'd been eating, wiping away at her tongue.

"What the heck...?" Harrison muttered, her own spoon paused halfway to her mouth.

Giving her tongue one last swipe, John Rodgers pitched her ice cream into the nearest trash can and clamped a hand on Harrison's wrist, the one whose hand was still holding her ice cream. "Don't eat that," she said.

"What! Why?!"

Suddenly, screaming practically shattered the air. Over two hundred voices harmonized into a symphony of agony, the destroyers scattered in search of water to cure the burning of their tongues, the organs flopping uselessly outside of their mouths. In seconds, all that remained was their distant screaming and seventy-odd tin cans who hadn't started eating their ice cream yet, staring in confusion.

"That's why," John Rodgers deadpanned. "I don't know who, but _someone_ put Carolina Reaper peppers - or some extract - in the ice cream."

Immediately, all eyes turned to the mess staff, who to a man and woman immediately waved their hands in denial.

"Well, if it wasn't them," a destroyer piped up. "Then who was it?"

"I don't know. But it's not our job to figure it out. There are enough older shipgirls that are super-protective of us that we just need to wait."

~o~

Of course, the ice cream didn't just go to the destroyers. They had first pick, but ice cream was also distributed to the larger ships, and the Coast Guard cutters liked it almost as much as the destroyers. And the Carolina Reaper extract had been dumped in their ice cream, too.

The result was Santa Fe, the culprit, giggling as she watched the usually highly professional cutters running around like headless chickens and screaming their lungs out.

"Ah! Fire! WhaddoIdowhaddoIdowhaddoIdo?!"

"Pain! So much pain!"

"I knew we should've bought more milk!"

~o~

"But what if they can't?"

John Rodgers glanced over at the destroyer that had spoken up. William D. Porter. Bad luck or good luck that had gotten her stuck in the back of the mass? Who knows. It was all muddled up by now.

"What do you mean?" Rodgers asked her sister.

"Well, everyone knows that if you mess with the destroyers you mess with all the shipgirls that want to protect them," Willie D. said. "I mean, I know if I was the prankster I wouldn't want New Jersey to get her hands on me."

It was a compelling point. And also gave them a direction, if they thought about it. "Right!" Harrison declared. "To the Coast Guard station!"

~o~

Despite their best efforts, the cutters had utterly failed to banish the burning taste from their mouths; as such, they made a collective decision to bolt for the repair shops. Santa Fe watched them go, still giggling. In fact, she struggled not to break out into full-bellied laughter.

"Yeah, that is pretty funny, isn't it?"

Santa Fe abruptly paled, her giggles dying in her throat. Slowly, she turned around and took in William D. Porter casually leaning on the wall - and behind her, a wall of destroyers, all looking decidedly annoyed with the cruiser. For a moment, the cruiser and destroyers stared at each other. And then Santa Fe shot to her feet and bolted away.

"Nope."

"Get her!" Willie D. shouted, the destroyers charging with a variety of battle cries.

"AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!"

"FOR PONY!"

"PEANUT BUTTER!"


	174. Rule 2593

**Rule 2593. To the Iowas, while we understand your plan to "hug Kentucky back to the side of Good" we must warn you that she is starting to turn blue.**

It was not often that the Iowa sisters were together in one place, these days. New Jersey and Missouri were nearly always deployed on the front lines, though in different capacities, and Iowa's connection to the Central Princess monopolized her time and shackled her to Hawaii.

Or, put another way, only Wisconsin had anything close to a real work-life balance. Her attempts to fix that usually ended badly.

Thus, the fact that three of them were packed into a room and waiting for the fourth was something of an unusual occurrence.

"So..." Wisconsin began. "Does anyone actually know why we're here?"

"We're here 'cause Iowa called us here," New Jersey grunted.

"Well, yeah, but why did she call us here?"

"I'm sure she just wanted to catch up with her sisters," Missouri stated primly. "And that it is nothing more nefarious than that."

New Jersey and Wisconsin both blinked, and then turned half-lidded, skeptical looks on her. "Really?" Wisconsin deadpanned.

"Let me dream!" Missouri wailed, burying her face into her arms.

The battleships lapsed into an awkward silence after that, broken only by Missouri's ongoing sobs. Finally, after an interminable period that was probably only five minutes long, the door opened and admitted Iowa.

"Good morning, everyone!" she chirped. "I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here today!" As she turned to Missouri, her good cheer evaporated into concern. "Uh, something wrong with Mo?"

"Eh, don't worry about it," Wisconsin stated dismissively. "But seriously, why did you call us here?"

"Sisters, we have a duty!" Iowa declared. "A duty to our last sister, who even now wanders the Earth, aimless and misguided! Sisters! We must bring Kentucky back to our side!"

Dead silence greeted this proclamation. After several minutes, Wisconsin abruptly stood and started walking for the door. "Nope," she said. "NopenopenopenopenopenopeNOPE!"

Unfortunately, Iowa promptly put herself between the door and Wisconsin, glaring at her. "I swear to fuck, Wisky," Iowa growled. "If you walk out of here right now, I will make your life a living hell. No. I'll make you long for hell's sweet _fucking_ embrace."

"Look at how many fucks I give," Wisconsin shot right back, matching her sister glare for glare. "That Abyssal hates me, Iowa, and she's made that fact very, very clear! In fact..." She began to lift up her shirt. "Lemme show you the scars I got the _last_ time I met her!"

"Wait!"

Both battleships turned to the source of the desperate shout, New Jersey. "Uh, when you say Kentucky, you're talking about Wreck, right?" she asked. "As in, Primordial Re-Class Abyssal Wreck? That Wreck?"

"Do you know any others?" Wisconsin snarked.

"Right, just checking," New Jersey calmly stated. "I'm sure you have a plan, right, Iowa?"

"Yup!" Iowa chirped, all smiles again. "We're going to hug her, and hug her, and then hug her some more, until all the bad Abyssal stuff is gone!"

New Jersey blinked, and then stood up herself. "I'll take the left side," she said.

"I'll take the right, then," Wisconsin agreed, clamping down on Iowa's arm.

"Uh, girls?" Iowa queried, chuckling nervously as New Jersey stalked up to her. "W-What are you doing? W-Wait! Stop! I-I'm going to become angry with you!"

And all the while, Missouri continued to quietly sob.

~o~

"Remind me why we're going through with this harebrained plan, again?" Missouri said, one eyebrow twitching. "You two were dead set against this plan twelve hours ago!"

"Iowa made some very convincing arguments," New Jersey said, scratching at a bandage on her cheek.

"And we're mature enough to admit our mistakes," Wisconsin added. She, too, was bandaged up.

"Shut up, guys, she's still speechifying!" If New Jersey and Wisconsin were patched up, Iowa had gone through a full repair job in bandages. She was also utterly enraptured by Wreck's speech. Sighing, the remaining Iowa sisters leaned back to wait.

Finally, the speech ended, and Wreck began descending from the stage, presumably to mingle with donors. "Now's our chance," Iowa hissed. Nodding, the quartet began shoving through the crowd. And being battleships, the crowd gave way. Of course, with the built-up momentum, they more... crashed than entered the donor mingling.

[What the-] Wreck began, before the four battleships embraced her in a massive group hug. For a moment, all traces of the hate and anger that usually defined her faded away. For a moment, she was Kentucky, and not Wreck.

And then the moment passed.

[You have ten seconds to get your sweaty mitts off of me,] Wreck growled. [1, 2...]

The Iowa sisters promptly leapt off of her, to be confronted by the Abyssal's security personnel.

"Iowa, tell me you have an extraction plan," Missouri hissed out the corner of her mouth.

"Yup," Iowa stated, before turning around and bolting. "EVERY SHIPGIRL FOR HERSELF!"


	175. Rule 2595

**Rule 2595. Any Mary Sues are to be terminated on sight.**

Even by shipgirl standards, she was absurdly beautiful, with shining raven-black hair, a perfect face, breasts of enormous size even compared to a Yamato or Iowa, and an impossibly narrow waist combined with hips that could only be described as "child-bearing". She boasted the power of both carrier and battleship in a package that made her world-class at both. Just about everyone on base was falling over themselves to do her bidding. Her name was Ryukaku.

And Kiso was pretty sure she was a Mary Sue.

Now, how a Mary Sue had appeared in the real world (snrk!) was a question the light cruiser was not prepared to contemplate. How Kiso knew this was a Mary Sue was far easier to answer. She had started out as starry-eyed as everyone else, but she was a lapsed chuunibyou. She knew delusion when it hit her. And once that thought poked through, the many, many inconsistencies reared their ugly heads.

Not about Ryukaku herself. That invited a headache. It was the reactions of others. For instance, Ooi and Kitakami, who were just as infatuated as everyone else and for whom such behavior was _especially_ out of character. Or Kongo, who had vanished but could be heard clunking through the vents, probably because Ryukaku was hanging all over Admiral Goto, and he wasn't resisting in the slightest.

Right now, Kiso was just observing the Mary Sue, steadily beating down the mind control effects of her presence. Ryukaku was in Hosho's bar, outdoing the carrier herself at cooking, which was probably some sort of blasphemy, and with Hosho showering her with praise despite the Mary Sue barging into her kitchen, which was _definitely_ one sort of blasphemy. The light cruiser had been watching for days, and she was no closer to a solution than before.

[Watcha doin'?]

So focused was Kiso on her task that the sudden voice nearly prompted her to scream. Luckily, she stifled it, and slowly turned around to find Worktown staring at her. "Geez, you scared the shit out of me!"

[Sorry,] Worktown said, not sounding sorry at all. [Anyway, watcha doin'?]

"Watching the Mary Sue down there," she muttered. Worktown followed her finger and grimaced.

[Oh, yeah, her. Blargh. I really want to kill her.]

Kiso blinked. "You're not affected?"

[Oh, I'm affected, but since I'm an Abyssal it makes me want to brutally murder her instead of worship the ground she walks on,] Worktown replied. [C'mon, there are a few others who aren't affected.]

"So, you have a plan to solve this?"

[Yup! Kill the Mary Sue, and the effects disappear! Simple!]

"But not easy."

[Nope!]

~o~

It was an odd little group that gathered as far from Ryukaku as possible. In addition to Worktown and Kiso, Tatsuta, Hoppo-chan, Aoba, and Hachi were also present. Tatsuta looked almost as ready to kill something as the two Abyssals, Aoba was simply grumpy, and Hachi appeared to be deep in thought.

[Alright!] Hoppo-chan announced once everyone was settled. [This is a planning session for how to kill the damn Mary Sue currently roaming our base!]

"And why can't we just rush her?" Tatsuta growled. A loud thump from the ceiling indicated agreement from Kongo.

"Because Mary Sues are protected by narrative," Hachi answered. "Ergo, any attempt to kill them is doomed to fail, for they are pure and good and bad guys always lose. If we are to do this, we must turn the narrative weight against them and _then_ rush in to kill them." The submarine smirked. "And I have a plan for that.

~o~

Ryukaku snuggled deeper into the super-soft, super-comfy bed. Yup. Admirals definitely got all the perks. The only thing that could make it better was the admiral himself, but he had a very important job.

A knock at the door drew her out of her dreams of cuddling with the Admiral, and she stood and flounced up to the door. Opening it, she found Hoppo looking up at her, and she almost fell into the urge to squeal. So cute! It was really too bad the child had been avoiding her, but she must've gotten over her shyness!

"Hi, Hppo-tan!" Ryukaku chirped. "Wazzup?"

[C-Can I practice my makeup with you?] the tiny Abyssal asked, holding up some of the supplies.

"Of corse! Com in!"

Walking up to the nightstand, Ryukaku sat down in front of it and waited for Hoppo to start to work. As it turned out, the little Abyssal was actually fairly skilled, though still messy. It wasn't long before Ryukaku turned, and gasped. She'd always been incredibly beautiful, but now she looked _cute_ , in that way only adult Japanese women could pull off.

"Thx, Hppo-tan!" Ryukaku said, and meant every word of it.

Before Hoppo could reply, though, a deep rumbling sound made itself heard, shaking the walls and furniture. The source was quickly revealed when Nagato Kool Aid Manned through one of the walls, in full Super Nagamon 3 and charging straight for Ryukaku. The Mary Sue could only stare as the battleship turned her charge into a flying tackle, tears of joy streaming from her eyes.

"So cuuuuute!"

"Fiddlesticks..."

Super Nagamon 3 met Mary Sue, and in a fit of slapstick comedy, Super Nagamon 3 won, carrying Ryukaku through the next wall and outside - right where Kongo was waiting with a wide grin.

"Heeeeeey..." she sang, looming over the suddenly-nervous Mary Sue.

~o~

"Aww, I wanted to do that,] Tatsuta and Worktown whined as Kongo went to town on the Mary Sue, Hoppo having successfully dived in to distract Nagato.

"Kongo's the one with the narrative heft, not you all," Hachi replied. Curious, she glanced over to Aoba and Kiso, who both suddenly looked pale. "What's wrong with you guys? This isn't _that_ gruesome."

"Yes it is," Aoba groaned.

"No, it isn't," Kiso shot back. "But I just a terrible thought. If this is the kind of damage _one_ Mary Sue can do... _what if there are more?!"_

~o~

"So, lemme get this straight," Enterprise said, staring at the woman in front of her. "You're the fourth Yamato, going by the name Ichi."

"Un!" Ichi nodded, the movement doing interesting things to her overlarge breasts.

"And... you want to have a threesome with myself and E," Yamato picked up.

"Un!"

The couple shared a glance. "Uh, isn't that incest?" Enterprise pointed out.

"Such thing is not obstacle to twu luv!" the shipgirl declared. Suddenly, hands snaked out, one wrapping around her neck and the other grasping her head.

"Just die already."

And then, the hand on Ichi's head pulled, bending her neck at a painful-looking angle with a sickening snap. The Mary Sue slumped to the ground, dead, and Akemi spat on the corpse. "Fucking Mary Sues..." she grumbled.

"We could've handled that, y'know," Enterprise pointed out. "But thanks anyway."

"Eurgh, I could feel it trying to push me into that... that..." Yamato didn't complete the thought, instead shuddering.

"Yeah, we've got standing orders to kill them on sight," Akemi said. "No one knows where they come from, but they're mostly a nuisance. I wouldn't worry overmuch about them."

~o~

Provence growled, crumpling up a scribbled formula and tossing it into the nearest trash can to join its predecessors. Cursed chemistry! Cursed laws of physics, denying her her ambitions! With another growl of annoyance, she plopped her head down on her arms and sulked.

The door opening eventually brought her out of the sulk, but not her anger, and she turned around to give that person a piece of her mind. "Hey, a little pri... vacy..."

There, standing in the door, was the most _gorgeous_ man she'd ever seen. Titanic had once held that spot, but this newcomer made the liner look like a street hobo in comparison.

"Hello, Provence," he stated in a voice like smoked honey.

"Huh buh who what I"

"I'm the new Admiral of this base," this mysterious man continued. "Now. How can I help you, Provence?"

The opportunity was obvious and immediately seized. "I want unlimited funding!" she shouted.

"Done. Now-"

"Maria. _Kill."  
_  
The new Admiral's eyes widened as one of Provence's raptors dove out of the shadows and clamped her jaws on his neck before he could react. Blood immediately marred his good looks, allowing Provence to shake the last of the fog from her brain.

"You shouldn't have approved that funding," she told the man, ignoring his screams of pain as the raptor savaged him. "Any real admiral would never provide unlimited funding, or any additional funding, that fast." She grinned. "Suffer and die, imposter."

Finally, with a gurgle of blood, the man expired, and Provence waved the raptor off, bribing her with a nice steak. The battleship was just debating how to clean up the blood on the floor when Admiral Masson appeared in her door.

"Provence, be careful!" she said. "There's a Mary Sue on the loose, and-" She paused, taking in the bloody carcass on the floor. "Oh, never mind, you got him."

~o~

"So. These are Mary Sues," Gneisenau remarked at the two figures strapped to a table and wrapped in radiation shielding. Both were staring at her and her companion with wide, frightened eyes.

"Da," Chapayev agreed, holding up a power drill. "Shall we?"

~o~

"Somehow... some way... I feel like everything'll be fine," Hachi said.


	176. Rule 2601

**Rule 2601. Vandalizing the bulletin board we post new rules on does not make your changes official. Remember that.**

HMS Shropshire eyed the bulletin board where updates to The List were posted. A new one had just shown up... and she found herself wondering who had posted it. It wasn't Admiral Collingwood, that's for sure. He didn't write things in crayon. Also, the content of the rule itself was suspicious.  
 **  
2600\. You are no longer allowed to film nature documentaries about Abyssals using the Steve Irwin approach and poking them with sticks.**

Because she couldn't think of anyone who'd done that. She kept her ear to the ground with the Australians, and none of them had been dumb enough to try anything like that. Recently, at least.

This meant that someone had posted an entirely bogus rule up onto the board. Which probably wasn't _too_ bad-

"What!"

"Bahahahahaha! Who was stupid enough to do that, and how long are they gonna be in dock?"

Shropshire sighed as the voices of Rocket and Raider washed over her. Never mind, better to nip this in the bud immediately. Because of course the destroyers would be gullible enough to believe this was real. She quickly scanned around and located a passing Glasgow, who she grabbed on the shoulder.

"Stay here and keep an eye on things, okay?" she whispered. "Text me if another notice pops up."

"O... kay..." Glasgow said. "Why? Something going on?"

"Yeah," Shropshire nodded. "The new notice isn't official."

Glasgow blinked. "Really?" she said with utter sincerity. "I couldn't tell."

SMACK!

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." Shropshire replied through her hand, which was plastered over her face. "Just... stay here. Okay?"

"Eh, sure," Glasgow shrugged.

~o~

"Come in," Admiral Collingwood called out at the knock at his door. It swung open, Shropshire poking her head in.

"Admiral, we have a potential crisis," she said.

Sighing, Collingwood looked up from his paperwork. "Of course," he groaned. "It's always doomsday this and end-of-the-world that. Nobody ever opens with a joke!"

"Uh, sorry?" Shropshire hesitantly replied. "I can try a joke if you want..."

"Nah, I'm just venting," Collingwood said dismissively. "Anyway, what's going on?"

"Someone is messing with the bulletin board for new List rules," the heavy cruiser answered.

Collingwood's eyes widened, and he made a noise like a leaking balloon.

"Yeah, that was about my reaction," Shropshire muttered. "Sir, you need to get on this immediately and say that the bulletin board is being tampered with. You're the only one with the credibility to convince the whole base."

"Yeah, probably a good idea..." the admiral squeaked. "I'll-" The door to his office was suddenly flung open, a panting King George V poking her head in. "Oh, come on!"

"Is this a bad time?" the battleship queried.

"No, no, just..." Collingwood sighed explosively. "Just tell me. Please."

"Well..."

Whatever King George V was going to say was drowned out by some sort of commotion outside. Exchanging a look of pure dread, the trio scrambled to the window to find most of Scapa's shipgirls marching down the way. Torches and pitchforks and angry expressions featured prominently.

"Oh no."

"There must've been a new message on the board..."

 _"Oh no."  
_  
"I wonder what they're rioting about?"

 _"OH NO."  
_  
For the third time that day, the door to Admiral Collingwood's office was thrown open, Centurion barging in with the fury of a thousand exploding suns on her face.

"Admiral!" she shouted. "What's the big idea, banning all porn access?!"

"I didn't-" he tried to respond, but Centurion's anger rolled right over him.

"Bullshit! I saw that notice on The List! Well, you know what? You can pry the videos on my hard drive only out of my cold, dead fingers!"

"Centurion!" Admiral Collingwood barked, the former battleship freezing and blushing. "I will be rescinding that rule effective immediately. Go and alert that mob outside, if you will."

"Yes sir!" she barked, before marching out.

For a long moment, Shropshire, Collingwood, and King George V mulled over the fact that Centurion hadn't believed that the notice was fake, but immediately bought that it would be immediately redacted.

"I need a fucking drink..." Collingwood concluded.

"And I need to go find a vandal to pound," Shropshire growled.


	177. Rule 2606

**Rule 2606: For the last time there is a dedicated team of scientists pouring over Eldridge's rig. As such, any science girl who wishes to harass Eldridge is free to do so at their own risk.**

South Dakota crept after USS Eldridge, one of the many destroyer escorts assigned to Bremerton. This one was special, and not like England or Samuel B. Roberts. Those were of a normal, understandable (albeit not quantifiable) weirdness. Eldridge... just seemed to be magic, if the rumors were true. And not shipgirl magic (TM), either. Apparently, she could turn invisible, or perhaps appear and disappear at will. The black sclera of her eyes and long, stringy black hair that was always covering her face certainly didn't help the image.

And, as a scientist, South Dakota was burning with desire to know!

Of course, being Bremerton and not San Diego, they would likely be far less tolerant of her antics, and so she hadn't told anyone she was here. Those who'd asked had been regaled with tales of visiting Seattle and seeing the sights. Most had quickly dropped the subject after that. Phoenix had simply given her a knowing look.

Shaking her head at the memory, South Dakota picked up some speed as Eldridge turned a corner. Unfortunately, once the battleship turned that corner herself, her quarry was nowhere to be found.

"Damn," South Dakota said, snapping her fingers. "Where did she-" Turning around, South Dakota had to resist the urge to shriek as she saw Eldridge's face, upside down, not six inches from her own. That the DE's hair was defying gravity to stay over her face wasn't helping.

"Ha ha, nice try," South Dakota deadpanned, trying to ignore her jackrabbit heart. "But you're gonna have to do better than that to-" Suddenly, Eldridge reached out and jabbed the battleship in the chest, unbalancing her. "Scare me...?"

And then she was falling... and falling... and falling...

~o~

THUMP!

Hornet paused, blinked, and turned around in her chair to see South Dakota on her floor, curled up in a fetal position and sucking her thumb. The battleship's eyes were wide, dilated, and bloodshot, and she reeked of fear- no, wait, she'd wet herself.

Sighing, Hornet turned to a corner of the room and shouted, "Eldridge! Get in here!"

A few seconds later, the DE poked her head in, looking sheepish. And by poked her head in, I mean literally stuck her head through the wall, everything from the waist down hidden by the drywall.

"Now, Eldridge," Hornet said in a scolding tone. "What have I said about dumping things in my room?"

Sheepishness intensifying, Eldridge poked her fingers together, her mouth soundlessly moving.

"I don't care if she was stalking you! No dumping means no dumping!" Jabbing a finger at South Dakota's prone form, she barked, "Now move her somewhere out of the way! Like her lab, or the docks!"

Rolling her eyes, Eldridge floated out of the wall and shoved South Dakota back into the in-between space before following the battleship.

"I saw that!" Hornet snapped, before sighing and going back to what she'd been doing before: shitposting on Tumblr. "If this is what having kids is like, then I'm skipping that aspect of womanhood..."


	178. Rule 2609

**Rule 2609. Nagato is forbidden from sailing anywhere near the Iceberg Princess. As is everyone else, for that matter.**

USCGC Eastwind held up her hand as another wave sprayed water all over her face. North Atlantic swells had nothing on the Roaring Forties or the Bering Sea in the winter, let alone the Furious Fifties or Shrieking Sixties, but they were still unpleasant to steam through. On the plus side, she was on her way back to Boston for some well-deserved R&R, which kept her spirits up.

A ping on her radar alerted her to an especially large iceberg, and she mentally flagged it to alert, well, everyone using the TransAtlantic route about it. No need for another Titanic.

It was only five minutes later that the icebreaker realized that the iceberg was still behind her. In fact, it was right on her tail. Frowning, Eastwind put on another few knots of speed, and nearly voided her bowels when the iceberg _sped up_ to try and catch her. Audibly swallowing, she put on more speed, kicking her engines up to flank. Nope. Iceberg was still slowly catching up. Beads of nervous sweat rolled down her face as she queued up her radio.

"Mayday, mayday!" she practically screamed into the device. "This is USCGC Eastwind to all vessels! I am being pursued by a new Iceberg Princess at-!"

"Heeeeeeey."

Slowly, Eastwind turned her head to the side to see the iceberg, or a small part of it, right beside her, the grinning Iceberg Princess staring right at her. There was only one appropriate response to this.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH-"

~o~

USS Milwaukee pursed her lips as the small pursuit force that the US Navy had managed to scrape together limped back into Norfolk. Tuscaloosa was being practically _carried_ by Philadelphia, Gyatt was dragging Savannah's limp form behind her, and poor Ranger was visibly swaying on her feet. Already, the dockhands were getting the girls onto land and to the repair docks.

The big surprise, though, was the _British_ force limping back into the harbor. About the only ship not sporting some kind of damage was Victorious; both Nelson and Rodney looked like they'd gone nine rounds with a Battleship Princess, and the cruisers and destroyers that had been their escorts were in no better shape.

"That bad, huh?" she queried as Victorious climbed up. The carrier made a face like she'd bitten into a rotten lemon.

"You have _no idea,"_ Victorious grumbled. "I swear that bitch was toying with us. All we got were some pictures."

The carrier then took out said pictures, handing them over. Most were shots of the Abyssal's armaments - which were formidable - but one showed a panicked Eastwind in the Princess' grasp. And it didn't escape Milwaukee's notice that both were quite adorable.

Hmm.

"I think I might have a new plan," the light cruiser said.

~o~

Admiral Goto walked up to the administration building in high spirits. It was a beautiful day, his coffee had come out especially good, his blueberry muffin was heating his hand through the bag it was in, and Super Nagamon had just rocketed by-

Wait a second.

Goto blinked after the golden dot cresting the horizon, and immediately ended his leisurely walk in favor of a brisk run into the building, up the stairs, and into his office, where Ooyodo looked up in surprise and more than a little concern.

"Ooyodo," he said. "Why did Nagato just fly past us in her Super form?"

The secretary ship blanched, her mouth dropping open. "She _what?!"  
_  
Thundering footsteps forestalled any further conversation as Mutsu skidded in behind them. "Admiral, bad news!" she shouted, holding up a photograph. "My sister just got this in her email!"

Ooyodo and Goto looked at the picture, and suddenly everything made sense.

"Call Norfolk!" Goto ordered. "I have a bad feeling about this!"

~o~

[Aww, you're so cute! I know that I keep saying that, but it's true!]

Eastwind whimpered as the Iceberg Princess nuzzled against her, trying not to slip into despair. Seeing the combined Anglo-American forces driven off had put her very close to the edge. Slowly and carefully, she turned her gaze skyward, and prayed for deliverance from her captor.

Her prayer was answered with a glowing golden dot streaking towards them in the sky.

WHAM!

Super Nagamon crashed into the Iceberg Princess'... well, iceberg, lifting part of it above water. The Abyssal, nearly falling on her ass, dropped Eastwind to better balance herself before turning to face the golden-wreathed form.

"Vile fiend!" Nagato declared. "You may be cute yourself, but I shall not allow you to bully Eastwind any longer!"

If the battleship expected her opponent to spit bile and defiance at her, she was surprised when instead the Abyssal turned on the Bambi eyes and the quivering lip. [Y-You'we scawing me...] she whimpered.

Nagato promptly froze, and shuddered, shifting into Super Nagamon 2. Then, she lifted her head, a blissful expression on her face, and dove for the Iceberg Princess. "Come to mama!"

Suddenly, the uber-cute expression on the Iceberg Princess' face vanished, and she ducked under Nagato's charge and brought her foot up in a massively powerful kick. Nagato didn't even try to block or evade, and went soaring into the air, eventually winking out of sight.

[Damn crazy person...] Iceberg Princess muttered, before her happy expression returned and she turned around. [Now, Eastwind, let's-]

There was nothing there, the icebreaker having smartly bolted the minute her captor's back was turned.

[Damnation!]

~o~

Tirpitz glanced up at one of the mountains lining Trondheim and its fjord. Or, more specifically, at the white-clad ass poking out of it. Sighing, she turned and steamed for the city. They'd probably need a large crane of some kind...


	179. Rule 2612

**Rule 2612. Ok, everyone, we're going to start confiscating any and all lightsabers and anything that's derived from the, because apparently, none of you are capable of handling the things without accidentally cutting someone's limbs off (in this case your own) every 5 minutes. Just be fortunate that the repair docks can reattach them.  
**  
Putting in one last weld, South Dakota stood up, worked some of the kinks out of her back, and set aside her welding gear in favor of picking up the odd cylinder she'd been working on. Shiny, and festooned with a variety of odd gribblies, it was very familiar to anyone who hadn't been under a pop-culture rock the size of the Moon. Pressing a button with her thumb, South Dakota let an eager grin spread over her face as, with a familiar snap-hiss, a glowing blue blade flashed out of the hilt.

"I have a lightsaber," South Dakota declared, before devolving into giddy giggling. "I have a fucking lightsaber! Eeheeheeheehee!" Giving it a twirl, she giggled again as it hummed through the air. "So cool!" This time, she attempted a more complex maneuver. "So coo-!"

Unfortunately, this time, the swing got just a bit too wild and neatly sliced off her right arm halfway between her wrist and elbow. For a long moment, the battleship stared at the smoking stump, and then the pain hit.

"AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGH, WHY?!"

So preoccupied with her own agony was the battleship that when Phoenix poked her head in to see what the fuss was about, she was able to simply pick up the dropped lightsaber and walk off with it, South Dakota occupied with clutching her stump and screaming.

Back in the safety of her own lab, she muttered, "Now, what is this...?" A quick examination turned up what appeared to be an activation button, and combined with the general design of the device, an unlikely but awesome conclusion forced its way into her mind. "Nah, can't be," she chuckled, shaking her head and dismissing the idea.

Still, she pressed the button. _Snap-Hiss._ The blue blade sprang to life, and Phoenix felt something build up in her chest.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-!"

Once her squee quieted down to audible human ranges, Phoenix poked her head out again, finding South Dakota gone, probably to get her arm reattached. Slowly, Phoenix glanced down at the lightsaber hilt in her hand.

"Well, I don't think Dakota'll miss this," she said happily.

~o~

"Alright, Phoenix," Helena sighed. She and the rest of the Pacific Brooklyns were gathered in a small room with a happily grinning Phoenix, which would normally be a cause for busting through the walls to get away, but this time the smile didn't hold the usual hint of blazing madness. "What's so important that you needed us all here?"

"Yeah, I've got better things I could be doing," Honolulu added. "Like finishing my jigsaw puzzle. Or relaxing on a recliner."

"Oh, I don't know..." Phoenix coyly replied, reaching into her pocket and placing something on the table in front of them. "Those don't sound better than playing around with an actual _lightsaber_."

The other five cruisers in the room all blinked, St. Louis speaking first. "Oh, bullshit!"

 _Snap-Hiss!  
_  
"Never mind..." St. Louis breathed, before suddenly genuflecting. "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!"

"Okay, yeah, that's way better..." Honolulu breathed.

"Shut up, Louis, we're totally worthy!" Boise snapped, before turning to Nashville. "We _are_ worthy, right?"

"We better be!" the other cruiser stated. "Now could someone hurry up and-?"

"Mine!"

"Aw, broccoli!" Boise, Nashville, St. Louis, and Honolulu all spat in unison as Helena dove for the lightsaber and grabbed it, holding the weapon up in triumph.

"Go ahead, give it a shot," Phoenix told her.

Grinning, Helena activated the lightsaber again and began spinning it around. A nearby chair was promptly cut in two, followed shortly by a gouge in the table, then Nashville frantically ducking for cover, and then with a burning hiss something flying away from the cruiser. She paused, taking it in.

"That's my arm..."

Then the screaming started.

~o~

It was a peaceful afternoon in Yokosuka's mess.

And then Duel of the Fates began blaring, prompting everyone there to groan.

"And here come Kiso and Tenryuu again," Kaga and Zuikaku each said, despite being on opposite ends of the mess from each other.

Indeed, Kiso and Tenryuu swept in shortly after the song, but this time they weren't clashing with physical blades. Instead, blue and green light clashed back and forth, leaving spots behind in peoples' eyes.

"Oh, come on!" someone, possibly Sazanami, shouted. "Why do _they_ get to have lightsabers?!"

The dueling light cruisers paused at that. "Because we're the only ones here who won't chop things off by accident!" Kiso replied.

"Can confirm!" Hokaze added as she skipped in. Once all eyes were on her, she held up on arm, which was thickly bandaged around a specific part of her arm. "Anyway, beat that stupid chuuniboat, honey!"

"Glass houses and stones, you little rugrat!" Tenryuu shouted as the duel resumed.


	180. Rule 2614

**Rule 2614. There is a way to eat Bananas. And this video is going to show you how to do it.  
**  
Admiral Goto stared down at Sendai and Iku. The two lewdbotes stared back, completely unrepentant. Sendai was wearing a black one-piece that was very high-cut at the hips, completely backless, and had only two thin straps on the front with a neckline that could be described as "plunging for China". Iku was wearing a more standard white string bikini, with two small triangles struggling to contain her breasts. Both were also wearing a good amount of mashed banana on their chests.

"So," Admiral Goto said. "I'm sure you two know why you're here."

To his consternation, the two shipgirls exchanged a look and then plastered on identical innocent grins. "Why, we have no idea what you're talking about, Admiral," they chorused.

"And I'm sure you've got a bridge to Terabithia to sell to me," Goto deadpanned. "Look, I'm not opposed to your video-making, but I don't want your banana-eating habits getting into your offline eating."

Now _that_ was genuine confusion on Sendai's and Iku's faces. "What are you talking about, Admiral?" Sendai asked.

Goto raised an eyebrow. "I've had a half-dozen light cruisers complaining about questions from their destroyers since breakfast," he said. "Questions about the two of _you_ eating bananas in the most lewd way possible."

"I don't see the problem," Iku said, only to get cuffed upside the head by Sendai. "Ow! What the hell?!"

"Destroyers are not for lewds!" Sendai barked. "So you will pay attention to your damn banana-eating, you lewdmarine!"

As Sendai and Iku descended into bickering, Goto nodded in satisfaction. If only all his problems could be solved so easily.

~o~

 _'I really need to learn when to keep my fucking mouth shut...'  
_  
Such were Admiral Goto's thoughts as a half-dozen light cruisers, joined by the strident voices of Hosho and Takao, all attempted to talk over him. Luckily, since they were all talking about the same thing, he could piece together the problem: the destroyers, impressionable as they were, had adopted Sendai and Iku's method of eating bananas.

"Wait wait wait," Fubuki interjected, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose. "They're eating bananas in a _sexy_ way?"

"Yes!" the gathered shipgirls shouted.

Sighing, Fubuki held out her hand. "I know one of you has a banana on you. Let me show you all how bogus this whole thing is."

Yahagi, for some reason, was the one with the banana, and Fubuki quickly peeled it down and slowly slid a good three inches of the fruit into her mouth, closing her eyes. The bite that followed was large, slow... and utterly sensual, especially when Fubuki pulled the banana out with wet pop, her lips briefly stretching in the process.

"See? Not sexual at all," she said, before blinking as she took in the onlookers. "Uh..."

"Oh my..." Takao and Hosho said in unison, red dusting their cheeks.

"M-Must stay strong for ojou-sama..." Yahagi whimpered, trying to stem the flow of blood from her nose.

"Destroyers are not for lewds... destroyers are not for lewds..." Tatsuta repeated, over and over.

WHUMP!

And there went Tama, Isuzu, Jintsuu, and Nagara.

"Fubuki..." Admiral Goto groaned. "Don't you _ever_ do that again."


	181. Rule 2616

**Rule 2616. You may not bring a grand piano on sortie with you.**

Helena nervously eyed the oncoming Abyssal horde, then back at the line of battleships a few miles behind her, with Utah at a grand piano just behind _them_. Yeah, that did make her feel better. She glanced ahead of her, where the Des Moines sisters were leading the other cruiser group. Much better.

Suddenly, her head whipped around, as a figure she'd overlooked the first time intruded into her consciousness. Sure enough, there was Utah, sitting a few hundred yards behind the battle line - sitting at a grand piano that was somehow floating on the water. Helena blinked, then closed and rubbed her eyes and opened them again. Nope. Still there.

"Yo, Helena, what are staring aaaaaahahahat..."

Nashville was rather more... vocal than her half-sister St. Louis. "What the fuck does that granny boat think she's doing?!"

Whistling shells shook the cruisers out of their shock, and then there was no time for wondering about Utah's presence as they were forced to fend off a combined destroyer/torpedo cruiser rush at the battle line. By some stroke of fate, they had just finished beating off the attack when the two battle lines came in range, and thus they were in position to hear a rather jaunty piano tune drift over the waves. Then the battleships' guns roared, drowning out the piano.

Still, notes continued to drift out between salvos, and after a few minutes Nashville sucked in a shocked breath.

"You have the look of someone who just realized something, sis," St. Louis stated.

"The salvos..." she breathed. "They're timing their salvos to the music!"

St. Louis and Helena exchanged a glance, and then strained their ears. It was a little hard to tell, but it did seem like the piano music and salvos were synchronized. Why? Who knows.

And then suddenly the tempo changed, the salvos changing as well. Now the battleships were timing their salvos so that instead of firing all at once, they were alternating each individual salvo so that there was an uninterrupted stream of shellfire. How they were still able to hear the piano over this din was a mystery.

And then one incoming shell sailed a bit too high, and there was a scream accompanying the usual explosion.

"Utah!" the cruisers heard Arizona scream.

"You bastards!"

At once, every single one of the battleships turned and charged the Abyssals in a ragged line, leaving both their cruiser groups and close-escort destroyers blinking in dumbfounded shock.

"Did that just happen?" Nashville breathed.

"Well, don't just stand their slack-jawed!" Newport News' voice carried over the water. "After them!"

~o~

Four days later and on the other side of the Pacific, Desdiv 4 trooped back onto base, damaged and despondent. Curious onlookers held their peace, certain the destroyers would reveal the cause, and sure enough, they did.

"I guess our dream of being a battle band is over," Hagikaze said, holding up the mangled remains of a bass guitar.

Maikaze spoke next. Of the quartet, she was the least damaged. "Maybe we can try that whole dance-battle thing again with recorded music, but yeah, that dream is dead."

"Who cares about that stupid dream!" Arashi wailed, cradling her equally mangled guitar in her arms like a small child. "This was my best guitar! I spent hours of tuning work and thousands of yen on it!"

"There, there..." Nowaki deadpanned, patting her sister on the shoulder.

"Oh, don't _even_ try to comfort me, Miss 'I pay for commercial maintenance on my drum set'!"

At that, all the onlookers chuckled, shook their heads, and went back to whatever it was they were doing. Just more of the destroyers' typical antics.

~o~

[Ah! Getitawaygetitawaygetitaway!]

[What is that awful sound?!]

Edinburgh smirked around the pipes of her, well, bagpipes. As much as she hated that people were incapable of appreciating her music if they weren't Scottish themselves, it was a weakness she had no problem turning against the enemy. Hence why she'd assembled an all-Scottish force for this convoy run, to reduce the risk of blue-on-blue.

For their part, Howe, Duke of York, Glasgow, and Berwick were trying very hard to ignore the agonized gyrations of the Abyssals.

They weren't succeeding.

"So, how long until that's classified as a war crime?" Berwick wondered.

"A few weeks. Maybe a month," Duke of York answered.


	182. Rule 2618

**Rule 2618. Any ships girls equipped with catapults, seaplane or otherwise, are to only use them to launch aircraft, not mecha models.**

"Incoming surface ships! Heavy cruiser class!"

Ark Royal growled at the report HMS Enterprise had called out. So much for Sheffield and Renown keeping them off her back.

"Enterprise, it's time for Plan B!" the carrier replied.

"Got it!" The cruiser dug a hand into her skirt pocket, then pulled out and tossed an odd, small object over to Ark. The carrier promptly placed it on one of her flight deck catapults, revealing it to be a battered, worn Mazinger Z figurine. Fairies swarmed up, getting the robot properly attached to the catapult, and as the Abyssal cruisers swept into view, Ark Royal raised her flight deck, and launched the figure.

It arced out for a few dozen feet and then plopped into the water.

"Shit!" Ark yelped, diving into the water to try and grab it. Enterprise and the Abyssals just stared, the shipgirl in fear and the Abyssals in slack-jawed confusion, until Ark Royal breached the surface a minute later, gasping for air.

"Shit, I lost it!" she reported.

For a moment, there was silence. "There are not enough toilets in the world to contain the amount of shit-spewing fear that I am going through right now," Enterprise finally droned, her face utterly blank.

Ark Royal's head whipped around so she could stare properly at the light cruiser. "Wait, why?!" she yelped. "How did you get this figurine?! You said that no one would miss it!"

"Well, considering it's a first-edition figurine worth at least a few hundred bucks - and _my_ first edition figurine, to boot - I'd say she was lying through her teeth."

Slowly, Ark Royal turned around to see Suzuya standing behind her, the smile on the cruiser's face totally at odds with her closed eyes and bulging veins in her neck.

"And now it's falling to the bottom of the sea."

Ark Royal whimpered and took a shaky step back as _something_ began generating a blustery wind around Suzuya.

"You _idiots!"  
_  
As the beatdown commenced, the Abyssal cruisers, now ignored, shuffled awkwardly on their feet.

[So... should we attack them like the plan was?] one asked.

[You kidding me?!] another incredulously replied. [D'you really want to get involved in _that_ clusterfuck?!]

As one, the Abyssals glanced over at the ongoing melee and decided that no, they wanted _none_ of that.

[Well, in that case we should probably get going to Gibraltar before that battlecruiser shows up again.]

[Agreed.]

~o~

An hour later, the Abyssals were at Gibraltar, and receiving a warm welcome.

[DIE!] Rock Fortress Princess growled as she rained 9.2" shells down on the hapless Abyssal cruisers. [DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!]

[RUN AWAY!] one of the cruisers screamed, missing an arm and half her skull.


	183. Rule 2621

**Rule 2621. Lightsabers are** ** _NOT_** **shells.**

Grinning like a madwoman, Ikazuchi lifted up her lightsaber in the iconic pose from the first Star Wars poster, and activated it. A swell of pride bloomed in her breast as the blade hummed to life. Of all of Desdiv 6, _she_ was the one who had mastered Tenryuu's exercises. _Her_ , not her better-known sisters.

It was a good feeling.

Suddenly, the "general sortie" alarm began blaring. Carefully slipping her lightsaber into a specially modified belt she'd ordered for this, she charged out the door, more eager than ever for battle. Perfect chance to show off her skills.

~o~

"Get _closer,_ you stupid ship-monsters!"

Alas, it was not to be. The Abyssals had apparently decided that charging in guns blazing was stupid, and that they were better served playing keep-away. And that meant Ikazuchi hadn't had a chance to use her lightsaber yet. Even the one torpedo attack she'd participated in with several other destroyers had been beaten back in a hail of 6" shellfire.

At this point, Ikazuchi was at her wit's end. There had to be _some_ way to deliver the lightsaber to the enemy, but how? Throwing it was right out; that hadn't been covered, and Tenryuu had drilled it into her head that trying something new was liable to get something important lopped off. What to do, what to do...

Suddenly, an idea hit. Ikazuchi retrieved the lightsaber, and held it up, examining it. She glanced over to one of her gun turrets, then back at the saber, then back to the gun turret.

"I~de~a!" she sang. The destroyer promptly stuffed the saber hilt down her gun barrel, fairies scrambling to load up a silk bag full of propellant - and also properly finagle the lightsaber into the breach, the tight squeeze activating the blade. Finally, though, after a few minutes they pulled it off, and Ikazuchi stared down a light cruiser that was getting a little _too_ aggressive.

"Fire!" she barked.

And then everything went white.

~o~

KA-BOOM!

Yuubari, clear on the other side of the Japanese force, was still nearly bowled over by the force of the explosion that just enveloped the right side of the Japanese fleet. Several destroyers around her were bowled over. The state of the rest of the fleet didn't bear thinking about.

Especially since Yuubari recognized the distinctive blue flame of that explosion. There was only one thing it could possibly be. Well, it could be Hawaii dropping in to lend a hand, but that was unlikely for several reasons. No, some idiot had breached the power cell for one of the lightsabers, with explosive results.

"Yuubari-" Hyuga began.

"Already on it!"

As her boilers fed steam to her turbines, Yuubari eyed the shipgirls sprawled on the water around her. They seemed fine, just shaken and a bit dazed - at least, for the first few miles. As she approached ground zero, dazed rapidly escalated to "stunned" or "concussed". By the time she reached ground zero, shipgirls were showing serious damage from blast, flame, and shrapnel, though surprisingly less than she'd thought.

And as for ground zero itself...

Yuubari hissed in a breath at the sight. Ikazuchi stood on the water, her entire body blackened and scorched and her rigging gone entirely. Her right arm wasn't in much better shape, hanging on by a bare sliver of metal. On the plus side, the destroyer was in good enough shape to turn her head and give Yuubari a pleading look.

"What did you _do?!"_ the light cruiser demanded.

Ikazuchi worked her jaw, but no sound came out. Come to think of it, her neck area looked badly battered. Luckily, someone else spoke up.

"The fool loaded her blade into one of her guns," Hatsuharu informed Yuubari, her usually magnificent eyebrows burned clean off. "I believe she meaned to fire it from her gun."

Something in her head _snapped_ , and Yuubari found herself at a loss for words.

"You... stupid... inconsiderate... GRAAAAAAAAAH!"

A rattling groan worked its way out of Ikazuchi's mouth at the scream, prompting Yuubari to round on her again.

"You are getting to the rear, into a repair dock, and then once you can speak again I am _ramming all the safety knowledge into your skull!"_


	184. Rule 2626

**Rule 2626. You are not Kerbals, please stop attempting to build high energy rockets because that last one almost started World War III, the fact the Abyssals started wearing NBC gear for about two weeks afterwards should have clued you into that.**

"Okay, so I understand what the big rocket's for," South Dakota stated as she eyed the launching pad from a safe distance. "We need some way to get our big death ray satellite into orbit. Finally." That last word was muttered with considerable venom. "Finally make months of scrimping and salvaging and whatnot pay off. But why all the way out... here?"

'Here' was a remote chunk of Baja California, with nothing human around for miles. And their little command center was a solid mile from the launching pad. It made getting everything set up a bitch and a half, and South Dakota had spent the entire time nervously waiting for the Mexican police to sweep in.

"Kzinti Lesson, Dakota," Phoenix idly answered. "Any reaction drive's efficiency as a weapon is directly proportional to its efficiency as a, well, actual drive. Conversely, the fuel's effectiveness as fuel is directly proportional to its effectiveness as a bomb." Placing down the binoculars, she stared at South Dakota, the battleship feeling a chill run down her spine. "A space launch rocket can explode with a force similar to a small nuclear bomb. And that's with normal fuels, let alone the stuff I've cooked up for this one."

"Alright, alright, point taken," South Dakota said, turning away. She reached down and flipped up a plastic panel, revealing a big red button. "Let's do this!"

And with that, she pushed the big red button, which was supposed to launch the rocket. And its engines did flare - briefly.

ZSSSSSHHHHH!

And then it exploded, shattering the glass of the control center and knocking over the two shipgirls. Once the blast wave had passed and their vision had stopped spinning, they stood, brushed off any glass on them, and glanced out the window to find a mushroom cloud rising into the sky.

"Well, shit," Phoenix said.

"Maybe nobody noticed...?" South Dakota offered.

The stare Phoenix directed her way told the battleship what her partner thought of _that_.

~o~

Sure enough, three days later they were sitting in front of Admiral Holloway. The American Admiral was beyond the usual drill-sergeant rage. He had gone past fury and collected 200 dollars and was now well on his way to putting down several hotels on Incandescent Avenue. He veritably _seethed.  
_  
"So," he said after a tense, uncomfortable minute. "Guess who I just got off the phone with."

South Dakota and Phoenix didn't reply. They didn't so much as _twitch_. Terror left them paralyzed.

"The Russian president. At _two in the morning._ About an apparent _nuclear test_ in _Mexico."_

 _Now_ they reacted, both audibly gulping.

"And then once he was done, then he got a call from the _Mexican_ president about an apparent nuclear test in his goddamn country." His fingers began to drum on his desk. "He told me that this is the closest we've gotten to outright _World War 3_ since a certain Mr. Petrov averted it."

At that, the two fainted, collapsing onto the floor in two loud thumps. Admiral Holloway blinked, then groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dammit, I didn't want to do that..."

~o~

Kako stared at the damaged Ne-class she had pinned to the water. The Ne-class stared back under the full NBC suit it was wearing. Mentally shrugging, she shot it, and then stood up. _All_ the humanoid Abyssals were wearing the NBC gear. Weird.

The thought kept bugging her as she re-entered the battle, pulling up alongside Furutaka. "You know why these bozos are going full NBC?" she asked her elder sister.

"Who cares?!" the cruiser snapped. "Kill 'em all and let the spooks sort it out!"

Kako nodded. That was a plan she could get behind.


	185. Rule 2627

**Rule 2627. We have told you a thousand times that Nagato is currently undergoing therapy for her condition, we're not sure if its her or her crew at this point. Anyway, QUIT BRINGING SQUIRRELS INTO THE BATTLESHIP DORMS.**

"Kirishima! Kirishima!"

Blinking, the battleship in question glanced over her shoulder at Asagumo, who was rushing up to her and her sisters Hiei and Haruna with uncharacteristic gleeful awe, something held in her hands.

"Look!" the destroyer declared, thrusting her hands in Kirishima's face.

There, six inches from her face, was a Japanese dwarf flying squirrel, staring up at her with big round limpid eyes. Kirishima's heart promptly melted at the sight, as well as at Asagumo's honest glee, but a horrible thought kept her from descending fully into a puddle of goo. And out the corner of her eye, she could see Hiei coming to the same conclusion.

"Kiri, what about-"

"Based on my observations of Nagato's daily habits, only a 22% chance that she's in the dorms," Kirishima immediately rattled off.

"I see..." Hiei nodded. "Haruna!"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Go get the rest of the battleships!"

"Even Fuso?"

 _"Especially_ Fuso!"

"Aye!"

As Haruna ran off to go alert the other battleships, Kirishima slowly picked up the small and remarkably un-skittish squirrel, and then let the mask fall away. "Eeeeeeeee, it's so cute!" she squealed, holding the creature up to her cheek and nuzzling it.

"I know, right?" Asagumo agreed.

"Hey, Kiri, don't hog the poor thing!" Hiei chimed in.

"Alright, alright..." Kirishima sighed, reluctantly holding out her hand. "You can have a turn."

"Eeeeeeeeee, it's fluffeh, I'm gonna die!"

And so it went as the rest of the battleships trickled in. Mutsu and Haruna reacted pretty much the same way as Hiei and Kirishima, Ise and Hyuga were more serene than they'd been in months, and Yamashiro nearly squealed at the contented look on Fuso's face.

And then Musashi walked in.

"Oh, shit," she groaned the instant she saw the squirrel. Someone was about to respond.

"Why? What's the... problem..."

But Nagato beat them to the punch, freezing up at the sight of the squirrel. Fuso's eyes flickered between Nagato and the squirrel in her hand, back and forth. Musashi was still behind Nagato, facepalming. Everyone else was afraid to move. And then...

"SOOOOOO CUUUUUUUUTE!"

~o~

Admiral Goto, Ootodo, and Fubuki were in a meeting on mostly inconsequential things when the explosion rocked Yokosuka to the foundations, followed by a rain of falling debris. Goto immediately began barking orders, a process aided considerably by long experience and a highly visible mushroom cloud.

"Ooyodo! Begin organizing the firefighters, immediately! Fubuki, head to ground zero, see what the hell that was!"

"Yes sir!"

As Fubuki sprinted for ground zero - which appeared to be over the shipgirl dorms, which was only a surprise because it wasn't the engineering department - Fubuki pondered what on Earth could have caused an explosion like that. Those questions were only complicated when she got close and found Fuso embedded upside down in a solid concrete wall, clothing shredded and scorched.

"Hey," Fuso said. "I'd ask if your day was as shitty as mine's been, but we both know that's impossible."

Gaping, Fubuki briefly pondered asking Fuso what the fuck had just happened, but decided against it and continued to head to ground zero.

And sure enough, the site revealed the answer: Nagato, untouched, kneeling where the battleship dorms had been and stroking a flying squirrel and cooing. Of the rest of the battleships, only Musashi was standing, the rest smashed into the walls of the surrounding dorms. Not that they were in great shape, either, the shipgirls within frantically evacuating.

"Time for more desensitization therapy again..." Fubuki grumbled.


	186. Rule 2628

**Rule 2628. OK SCIENCE! ship girls, any experiments with the Repair Buckets are going to be indefinitely suspended effective immediately. Apparently you somehow gave it some negative effects (such as hallucinogens, stimulants, depressants, anti-psychotics, etc.) that's equivalent of making ship girls high on weed, heroin, crack, and any others you can think of.  
**  
For once, Provence was busy with an officially sanctioned project, the prospect of increased funding providing more than sufficient motivation. And what was that project? Experiments with some of the Repair Buckets, ideally to figure out how to make them _other_ than the mysterious process that currently produced them. Admiral Masson had descended into rather impressive mad laughter after sharing that, monologuing about an endless stream of shipgirls kept in combat by repair buckets. Privately, Provence had a feeling such a strategy would fall on its face sooner rather than later, but eh. You don't contradict the people paying your bills, and you especially don't contradict the madgirl when they're ranting.

And so far, so good. She'd replicated the liquid inside, and tests with some of her less... successful old projects had indicated that she was at least on the right track, and soon the experiments were sufficiently advanced to start asking for possible shipgirl experimentation. Just yesterday, Admiral Masson had provided permission.

And so, we find Provence inspecting her subjects: heavy cruisers Suffren, Duquesne, Tourville, and Algerie. All four had minor damage of some kind from a recent run-in with Abyssal destroyers.

"Alright," she announced, tapping the four prototype buckets lined up on a nearby table. "Full disclosure: I'm still not sure what these are going to do, or what side effects they have. I know you all signed the waivers, but they don't cover you guys going after me personally, so... don't. And not just because I'll sic my raptors on you."

The four cruisers exchanged confused glances. Good enough.

"Let's get started, then!" she chirped, thumping the buckets down in front of them.

~o~

Asuna Takamori eyed Algerie. Her French friend was acting... oddly. Which was a bit of an understatement, actually. Happy mood combined with bouts of anxiety? Boosted appetite? Godawful short-term memory? General look of drunkenness? If she didn't know any better, she'd say Algerie was high on weed or something.

"You seem really happy today..." she offered.

"Oh, yeah..." Algerie moaned happily. "I don't know what Provence put in those repair buckets, but it's good shit. Really good shit."

Huh. Talk about an odd side effect. Still, as drugs went weed was reasonably harmless, and she wasn't being a bother besides being somewhat less sociable in general, so no need to go try stomping Provence's face in.

Wait.

Repair _buckets?_

~o~

"I swear to God, I was not expecting these kinds of side effects," Provence said.

Admiral Masson said nothing, nor did Tourville. The cruiser just redoubled her glare, before going back to the concerned look she was directing at her sister and Suffren. Both were in the repair docks, resting off what had basically been serious doses of heroin and crack cocaine, respectively. Why in the hell the new repair buckets had done that, and why Tourville was unaffected, were a mystery. A mystery Provence was in no hurry to solve.

Nor, it seemed, was Admiral Masson.

"Consider this experiment terminated, Provence," she sighed. "You'll get your funding, don't worry."

And now there was no reason to solve it at all! Yay!


	187. Rule 2629

**Rule 2629. I don't know what happened, but Taco Tuesdays for shipgirls have been cancelled indefinitely until we find the source of what exactly caused them to make the base's plumbing back-up into the harbor, because this has never happened before. Whoever is responsible will be forced to don scuba gear and start scrubbing sludge off the hulls of every ship in San Diego harbor. Yes that includes Midway's hull.  
**  
Early on Tuesday morning, a dark figure crept into San Diego's shipgirl mess entirely undetected with nefarious plans in mind. She made a beeline for her target: the massive walk-in fridge that held the fixings for the imminent Taco Tuesday. Thousands of pounds of beef, pork, chicken, rockfish, cheese, cilantro, onion, tomato, and peppers were laid bare before the figure's eyes - except they were all thoroughly wrapped up in plastic.

"Damnation!" she muttered. Closing the fridge, she sought out another target, and after some rummaging around found it in the spice rubs for the meat. Moving carefully, she opened the containers, removed her little surprise, and sprinkled it in, before closing the containers and giving them a hearty shake. That done, she carefully placed them back, and then slunk out.

Down with Taco Tuesday! Mission accomplished.

~o~

Tuesday dawned, and at lunch the shipgirls of San Diego descended on the mess in search of tacos. Much tacos were verily consumed, along with a considerable quantity of rice and refried beans.

Two hours later, six destroyers returned from a search and destroy mission to find most of the base's shipgirls parked on the toilets waging an all-out assault on the plumbing system that made Barbarossa look like a schoolyard slapfight. Groans and... other, wetter noises permeated the building. The stench was bad enough in the halls; the bathrooms themselves must have been a hell of awful smells usually not found outside of soap factories.

Immediately, Nicholas, Strong, La Vallette, Chevalier, William D. Porter, and Taylor all smelled a rat. And many other things besides, but the rat was important.

"Okay," Nicholas stated. "We know the last time the base had a bout this bad it was the gummy bear incident. Or when the submarines all got Taco Bell. So I don't think it's the tacos themselves."

"Right. So someone put something in the tacos," Chevalier picked up.

"Probably the spice mixture," Taylor added. "I've been in the back for a few punishment duties; they keep everything else all sealed up in plastic until they start prepping, and no way anyone's sneaking in by then."

"But everyone loves Taco Tuesday!" Strong protested.

"Well... not _everyone_ ," Willie D. pointed out.

Her fellow destroyers stared at her, and then La Vallette completed the brainstorm. "Lead the way, Willie."

~o~

USS Hobson cackled as a symphony of intestinal agony washed over her. Yes. She'd done it! Taco Tuesday was dead, never to return! They would investigate the ingredients, and find nothing, and they'd just _have_ to stop! The plan was flawless, and it was too late to stop it anyway! Mwahahahahahahaha!

"As cunning plans go, I've seen better."

Hobson froze. Had she said all that aloud? Evidently, she had. Slowly, she turned around to find Strong, La Vallette, Chevalier, and Nicholas all standing in her doorway.

"You can't prove anything!" she shouted.

"Well, that's the nice thing," Strong said. "We don't _need_ to prove anything."

A sudden shiver ran down Hobson's spine, and she slowly turned around, eyes wide, to find William D. Porter and Taylor hanging from the ceiling behind her. The light in the room was glinting off their glasses in a very impressive and equally terrifying effect.

"Heeeeeeeey," they said in unison.

Hobson gulped, and prepared for death.

~o~

On consideration, Hobson probably would have preferred the painful death to what she was currently going through. Which was to scrub the sludge that had gotten on the ship hulls in harbor when the overtaxed plumbing system had burst. That included several destroyers, large-deck amphibs, cargo ships, and the USS Midway museum, the latter of which she was currently working on. Pausing to work out a kink in her arm, she glanced around the towering hull over at the three supercarriers sitting around North Island that also needed to be cleaned. A sob jumped out of her throat.

"I don't hear any scrubbing!" came Midway's voice, accompanied by a beer can that bounced off of the back of Hobson's head. The carrier had appointed herself the destroyer's supervisor, apparently so she could have an excuse to relax and sip beer all day. Still, it needed to get done lest she be visited by... _those destroyers_ again, and so Hobson sighed, shuddered, and went back to scrubbing.


	188. Rule 2639

**Rule 2639. Not allowed to fashion a kusarigama out of an anchor, a chain, and a drum canister.**

For all that she was a certified master ninja, Sendai still had steeped herself for years in the pop culture image of the ninja. As such, there was something of a divide in her mindset. On the one hand, during "ninja" missions (that is to say, the many solo scouting missions and night battles), she was every bit the consummate, real-life ninja. On the other hand, during her daytime fleet missions, she was the usual Sendai, that is to say, a rather stereotypical anime ninja.

All of this is a long way of saying that Sendai still loved fiddling with stereotypical ninja weapons that were for the most part fairly useless against Abyssals. Like the kusarigama that Sendai was currently examining on her bed.

"Hmm, how do I make his better..." she muttered to herself. "Or rather, how do I construct something that is wielded the same way but can actually do something against Abyssals?" Sendai grabbed the chain and gave it a shake and a twirl. It reminded her of the anchors Uranami and Ikazuchi used (or used to use, in Ikazuchi's case) as melee weapons. In fact, Uranami used it in much the same way as an actual kusarigama. Now, she just needed a counterweight...

The door opening shook Sendai from her thoughts, and she glanced up to see Naka tromp in and then collapse face-first onto her bed.

"Idol stuff?" Sendai queried.

"No. Resource scavenging..." Naka groaned into her pillow.

Fun times. Resource scavenging was far less important than it was back in the desperate early days, what with the northern convoy route open and Hawaii mostly neutralized, but there were certain rare materials that were still more economical to harvest from the ruined areas left behind than from standard extraction. They made good milk runs for submarines, and even better punishment duties for surface ships.

"What'd you do this time?" Sendai half-asked, half-groaned.

"I... may or may not have gone with a Dead or Alive tournament for my latest stream. And invited destroyers to play."

Sendai snorted. Yeah, that sounded about right. She was more interested in the idea Naka's words had sparked in her head. One of the supply drum canisters would do for a counterweight, right?

Standing, she left Naka to her misery and went to go grab one of the drums. They were cheap as five cent gum, anyway, no one would miss them. Some experiments out on the docks revealed that a. she needed a better way to attach the drum, and b. it wasn't nearly solid and heavy enough. The latter had a simple solution: just fill the drum with seawater. The latter required a quick trip to the machine ships to weld the chain to the drum.

Now, all she needed was an anchor - a big one, not Uranami's dinky thing - and she'd be set. But where to find one?

"Hmm..." A finger tapping her chin, her eyes fell on the destroyer Kongo, tied up at the pier a few miles to the north. A grin spread over her face.

~o~

Kongo hummed happily as she skipped up to the destroyer Kongo. The only member of her class to survive the initial few months of combat, the battleship felt a sense of... kinship? Continuity? Something like that with the old steel hull. Regardless, she always made the time to visit the ship whenever it docked in Yokosuka, and right now was no exception.

However, upon coming up on the destroyer, Kongo skidded to a halt, gaping.

"What the desu?!"

After all, the destroyer wasn't supposed to be missing her anchor. Nor have a small crowd of confused sailors with one very angry captain staring up at her. Kongo's eyes narrowed, and she vowed to find the culprit!

Of course, she had no idea where to start, and so she turned on her heel to go find Admiral Goto and report this - preferably before some screaming O-6 left him a voice message.

By sheer malicious coincidence, she happened to pass by where Sendai was practicing with her anchor-gama on the docks. For a moment, Kongo was mesmerized by the display of skill as the chain, drum, and anchor whirled around Sendai at unseen opponents. And then she noticed the barnacles and seaweed still stubbornly clinging to sections of the metal, and a suspicion crystallized in her mind.

"Hey, Sendai!" she called out, stepping forward only once the destructive ballet ended. "Nice weapon! Where'd you get the anchor?"

"Oh, I just grabbed it off the Kongo!" the light cruiser replied, before whimpering as her brain caught up to her mouth. Kongo, for her part, grinned.

"Thank you for confirming that, Sendai dear," she crooned, advancing on the terrified cruiser.

~o~

Goto blinked, his sandwich threatening to spill off of the plate he was carrying it on. There, sitting in front of headquarters, was Sendai, a chain leading to a post from the dog collar around her neck. And also hanging from her neck was a sign that read "I steal anchors."

The food bowl at her feet filled with rice and the miserable expression on her face only completed the surreal picture.

Sendai turned a pleading gaze on Goto, silently begging him to let her go. Instead, the officer walked past her and into the building, ostentatiously taking a bite of his sandwich.


	189. Rule 2640

**Rule 2640. Stealing from Hawaii's personal sugarcane garden is frowned upon and will be its own punishment.**

[So, we did keep a few fields of sugarcane growing,] Central Princess admitted. [Well, more than a few, as you can see.]

Indeed, from her high-up vantage point, Hawaii could see sugarcane covering most of the flat land on Maui. It... was beautiful. Though...

"Why'd you keep the sugarcane?" she asked.

[For sugar. Duh. We may not need to eat, but sugar and other tasty foods are really good for keeping morale strong. And in getting defections.] Central Princess turned a smile on Hawaii. [Help yourself. Just remember that you'd need to take care of it yourself.]

"I understand," Hawaii nodded.

~o~

And understand she did. Even the small plot she kept in one of the garden areas in San Diego was a righteous pain in the ass to manage, particularly when it came to water. It simply didn't rain enough in San Diego, and that meant she had to hand-water the plants. Constantly. Hell, she'd damn near lost the entire crop on multiple occasions! But now, Hawaii had a small plot of sugarcane thriving in the garden spot, a plot she loved to just sit near and watch for hours on end.

This morning, though, she found more than just her sugarcane. She found the destroyer Hilary P. Jones squatting next to the plot, pieces of sugarcane in her hands, another in her mouth, and a rough hole in the ground where sugarcane stalk should've been. The destroyer also didn't seem to know she was there.

Between that and the sight of someone damaging her beloved sugarcane, Hawaii felt something snap inside her. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips pulled up - the resulting expression honestly couldn't be described as a smile. The destroyer still hadn't turned around. She cleared her throat.

When Hilary turned around, Hawaii had to resist the urge to laugh. With the sugarcane not only stuffed in her mouth but poking out, she looked like nothing more than a startled gerbil. Hilary hastily chewed up and swallowed the remaining sugarcane before greeting the cruiser.

"Hey, Hawaii," she said. "This yours? I gotta thank you, it makes a great snack."

Hawaii's expression didn't twitch, though it came very close. "So, you enjoyed my sugarcane, hmm?"

Hilary nodded. "Yeah!"

"Then I have a favor to ask of you." Power built in the cruiser's hands, glowing blue. "Try not to die too quickly. It wouldn't be _fun_ like that~."

Hilary's eyes widened, and she threw herself to the side with a startled yelp when a blue orb of explosive energy nearly took her head off. It didn't take her much longer to scramble to her feet and bolt.

Hawaii, for her part, just slowly began to follow.

~o~

Admiral Holloway sighed as _another_ explosion rocked San Diego. "They're still going at it?" he asked.

"Well, Hawaii's still going at it," Wright clarified. "Hilary P. Jones has been desperately trying to get her to back off for the past fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, Hawaii countered that with something about 'evasion practice'."

"Well, she's not wrong..." Holloway muttered, right as another blast rocked the base. "Right. This is ridiculous. Is Hornet back yet?"

"If she's not, Admiral, she will be soon."

~o~

Hawaii stared at Hornet, the carrier sheltering her prey. Now, that just wouldn't do!

"Stand aside, please, Hornet," she said sweetly. "I'm sure fighting you will be fun, but I'd prefer to save that for a later date."

"Sorry, Hawaii," Hornet replied, glancing down at Hilary, huddling behind her legs. "But I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Ah well. I did say I _preferred_ fighting you later..."

Without warning, Hawaii unleashed a powerful blast, one that Hornet evaded by the simple means of going intangible and letting it pass through her. Hawaii's eyes barely had time to widen before Hornet rushed forward and planted her foot in her gut, sending Hawaii flying.

Hilary cheered at that, but Hornet was quick to shut her up.

"Sorry, kid, but I think you'd better run," she said as Hawaii picked herself out of the rubble of the building that'd arrested her flight. "This is gonna get messy."

Hornet braced, Hilary bolted, and Hawaii charged, the resulting clash shaking the entire base.

~o~

Meanwhile, in the admiral's office, plaster rained down from the ceiling.

"Admiral, I do believe we did not think our cunning plan all the way through," Wright remarked.

Holloway's only response was to thunk his head against his desk.


	190. Rule 2644

**Rule 2644. Thanks to all your efforts, we are permanently removing the pingpong table from the lounge in Norfolk. We hope you are all happy.**

"Eye of the Tiger" was playing over some speakers someone had set up. The couches were packed with shipgirls and rearranged to face the center of the room, each wearing specific colors and waving flags and foam hands and all other manner of sports fan paraphernalia. And in the center of the lounge, destroyer Lloyd Thomas stared, hunched over, at the cruiser Memphis. Between them stretched a ping-pong table, and in their hands were-

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

"HEY!" Augusta shouted, prompting USS Rowan to flinch and pull her lips away from her vuvuzuela. "No noisemakers! I have half a mind to have you lot shut up for the match! And don't you start, either!" The other half of the impromptu stands, populated by a mix of four-pipers and the Omaha sisters, flinched back as Augusta whirled on them. That seemed to satisfy her, and she turned back to the table. "Alright, now, I want a nice, clean game from you two."

Lloyd Thomas and Memphis grunted, their entire being focused on each other. Mentally shrugging, Augusta handed the ball over to the destroyer and called out "Begin!"

Lloyd dropped the ball, it bounced - and then suddenly there was a series of cracks, the two shipgirls' hands blurred, and then a few seconds later the ball was bouncing off the net on Memphis' side.

"1-0, Lloyd Thomas," Augusta announced, the audience collectively blinking in surprise. Rowan leaned over to Wiltsie, sitting next to her.

"Uh, did _you_ see anything?"

"Nah, lost track after the first stroke."

The ball bounced, hands blurred, and then the ball bounced off the table on Lloyd Thomas' end.

"1-1."

The game continued in this vein, the blurs vanishing entirely when the score hit 4-4. As in, the players' paddle arms straight up _vanished from sight_ , the cracks of the paddles hitting the balls becoming a continuous roar.

It was mesmerizing. It was amazing.

It also left everyone wondering when something was going to break.

Finally, when the score was tied at nine apiece, something happened. Memphis' furrowed brows furrowed even more, and she shouted "Secret Technique!" This was followed by the loudest crack yet, her paddle shattering into a thousand splinters, and a hole appearing in the far wall, square between the ears of Frank Knox and Hollister. The ball continued on past the lounge, blasting through six destroyer dorm rooms (and a sandwich, one laptop, three tablets, and an ice cream bar) before exiting the building. From there, it continued on to the building the escort carriers occupied, whereupon it lost whatever Sparkly Magical Shipgirl Bullshit was keeping it intact, with the result that it hit the wall way too fast for the molecules of said wall to transmit any "Get out of the way!" information, with the result that the ball and a good chunk of the wall vaporized into a rapidly expanding cloud of hot gasses.

Or, in layman's terms, the ball hit the wall hard enough for both to explode violently.

For a long moment, nobody spoke or moved. Then Augusta said "10-9, Lloyd Thomas."

"Yeah, I think that's not very important right now!" Marblehead shouted as she scrambled for the door. "Time to go, I think!"

She opened the door, only to find a _lot_ of DEs and 4-pipers staring up at her.

"Aw, crap."

One of them raised her holed ice cream sandwich.

"Aw, _crap."_


	191. Rule 2645

**Rule 2645. We do not care how much you hate them, do not stab, shoot, or otherwise maim the bagpipes.**

King George V gritted her teeth as the dulcet tones of Edinburgh's bagpipes floated towards her over the waves. Despite segregating the cruiser with other shipgirls capable of not tearing their ears out at the sound, clearly for fleet battles that tactic wasn't going to work, or at least, not well enough. She didn't want to tear her ears out, but the sound was still setting her teeth on edge, and it was getting worse as the Scottish force steadily turned the Abyssals' flank. The one consolation was that the Abyssals appeared to be just as distracted, and so couldn't take advantage.

"GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

The battleship blinked as the destroyers Porcupine and Rocket sprinted past her from clear across the formation, the former wielding some sort of large meat fork and the latter with, well, her namesake. Shrugging, King George V went back to playing tag with the Abyssal battleships; Anson, Prince of Wales, Nelson, and Rodney were visibly doing the same.

And when the sound of the bagpipes cut off, all they did was breathe sighs of relief and intensify their firepower.

~o~

"My bagpipes!" Edinburgh wailed as she cradled the battered remains of her instrument. Privately, the rest of her small group were quite glad of this fact. For all that Anson, Berwick, Glasgow, and Duke of York could _withstand_ the bagpipes, they still weren't fond of the instrument, and their destroyers outright had to wear earplugs, which caused its own problems. The loss of tactical advantage silencing the bagpipes made was rather small in comparison.

Porcupine and Rocket appreciated it, too. In fact, they were downright _smug_ about it.

"De- _flated!"_ Porcupine crowed in a terrible imitation of Revenge's accent. Her big fork now had pieces of tartan hanging off the end.

"The nightmare is over!" Rocket cackled, despite the powder burns lining the side of her shirt from her rocket.

Edinburgh sobbed for a few minutes longer, before sighing, dropping the remains in the water and _pulling out another set what.  
_  
"Good thing I come prepared!" she chirped, before blowing into them.

The sound immediately sent Porcupine and Rocket to the deck, clutching their ears, and also turned what had been an organized Abyssal counterattack into a fifty-car pileup. The rest of Edinburgh's fellow shipgirls just sighed and returned to their work, or else were blissfully unaware.

Still, despite the aural assault, Porcupine and Rocket gritted their teeth, marshalled their hate, and stood, aiming their torpedoes. Not at the bagpipes - that had been shown to be futile - or at the Abyssals - which were complete disorganized - but instead at Edinburgh herself. Two fish leapt from their tubes - didn't want to actually _kill_ her, after all - and streaked unerringly for her before hitting and detonating, dropping the cruiser to the water with a startled, pained yelp. And more importantly, it stopped the noise of the bagpipes.

Both destroyers promptly breathed sighs of relief. Relief that was short-lived as they suddenly found Glasgow looming over them.

"Ae could ignore th' destruction o'the bagpipes," she said, Scottish brogue suddenly intensifying. "But fratricide? That, I cannae ignore." Her fist met her palm, knuckles cracking like gunshots.

Both destroyers whimpered. "I need an adult..." Rocket whined.

 _"Ae am an adult."_


	192. Rule 2648

**Rule 2648. "I am a ship" is not an excuse to not wear some sort of sun protection. You girls can, in fact, get sunburned.  
**  
"THE BEEEEEAAAAACH!"

Inazuma, Ikazuchi, and Akatsuki all sprinted down onto the sand, throwing off the cover-ups to reveal their brand-new and very cute swimsuits. Behind them came Tatsuta and Hibiki at a more sedate pace; Tenryuu was busy with additional lightsaber training and had let her sister take care of the trip.

"Thank you for staying back, Hibiki," Tatsuta said. "Could you help me with setting up the umbrella, please?"

"Da," the destroyer nodded.

But before they could do that, the rest of the destroyer division had almost made it to the water. And that was a problem.

"Girls, don't go in the water just yet!" Tatsuta called out. "You still need to put on sunscreen!"

"No!" Inazuma shouted back. "I came here to go to the beach! And I'm going to get the most beach time I can get!" And with that, she jumped into the waves.

"What she said!" Ikazuchi shouted as she did the same. Akatsuki, meanwhile, shot a condescending smirk Tatsuta's way.

"C'mon, Tatsuta, we're _ships,"_ she said. "We don't get sunburns! And we definitely don't get skin cancer." And with that, she joined her sisters in frolicking in the waves.

Tatsuta was just about to protest some more when Hibiki tugged on her sarong. "Let's get the umbrella up and sunscreen on," she said, nodding towards her sisters. "Let them pay for their own mistakes."

That was logic the light cruiser couldn't argue with, as much as it galled her to let the destroyers hurt themselves. But... it was a _sunburn_. And Akatsuki was half-right. Shipgirls almost certainly couldn't get cancer, so a sunburn was pretty painless as consequences went.

"Very well," she said, retrieving the umbrella. "Have you ever done this before?" The destroyer shook her head. "Here, let me show you..."

~o~

Ro-500, a.k.a. Yuu, blinked as she walked into the mess and spotted Desdiv 6 - or rather, three-quarters of it - lobster-red and visibly wincing at every shift of their clothes. Hibiki's smug expression and Tenryuu's admonishing one only confirmed her thought.

Once she got her food, the submarine walked over to their table and sat down. "Guten Morgen, everyone," she said. "First sunburn?"

"Yeah..." Ikazuchi groaned.

"These little idiots decided not to put on any sunscreen when they went to the beach yesterday," Tenryuu added.

Yuu blinked, then turned a half-lidded, condescending stare on the three sunburned destroyers. "You all thought shipgirls can't get sunburned, didn't you?" she deadpanned. From their sudden inability to look her in the eye, she'd hit the bullseye. Slowly, she indicated her own tanned skin. "How did you think I got my tan, then? Or Shioi?"

Inazuma and Akatsuki looked sufficiently chastened by that, but Ikazuchi had raised her hand.

"Yes, Ikazuchi?" Yuu sighed.

"Spray-on?"

The rest of the mess laughed as Yuu attempted to leap across the table to strangle Ikazuchi.


	193. Rule 2650

**Rule 2650. The spice parties are banned.  
**  
Ooyodo sorted through the general mail, all the mail that wasn't addressed to someone specifically and instead to, say, the entire base. There was a surprisingly large amount of it; less surprisingly, most of it was junk mail of the "underwear catalogue" variety. Why that still worked when there was free porn a few clicks and some typing away was an eternal mystery. Ah well, at least she'd gotten good at sorting through what was important and what wasn't.

Like this letter in her hand, all the way from Britain and addressed "To whom it may concern". Opening it, she scanned over the letter, and smiled.

"A spice party, huh?" she mused. She knew exactly the shipgirl who'd love that sort of thing, but could they spare her? Pulling up the duty roster, she scanned it over, and concluded that yes, they could spare Soryu for a few days. With that confirmed, she typed up a message...

~o~

"Letter for you, sister."

Frowning, Ning Hai took the envelope from Ping Hai and tore it open, reading through the letter that was within. Then she blinked, reading it over again. A grin slowly spread across her face, and she shot to her feet.

"I have been summoned!" she declared. "Ning Hai, hold down the fort! I need to book a plane ticket!"

"To where?" the other Chinese shipgirl queried.

"England!"

~o~

A knock at the door sounded out through the room in Portsmouth, and HMS Achilles, only a day removed from arriving from Alexandria, looked around. Dragon and Delhi were in the kitchen doing... something, and Nigeria was busy doing the rest of the setup.

As such, she called out "I'll get it!" while standing and walking up to the door. Opening it, she looked over the four American destroyers standing on the front step. "John Rodgers, Harrison, Vogelsang, and Steinacker?"

"That's us!" one of them chirped.

"Come in, then!" Achilles said cheerfully. "We're still getting set up, but Delhi and Dragon are cooking and that can only mean good things!"

There was a loud thump from the kitchen, followed by a very strong smell of mixed spices and an even spicier "Shit!" wafting out from the kitchen.

"Good things!" Achilles insisted just a little too hard, ushering the destroyers in. "Sit down, have something to drink, I'm gonna go see what they're cooking up!"

Thankfully, the destroyers didn't object, and instead sat down and began to chat up Nigeria. Breathing a sigh of relief, Achilles speed-walked to the kitchen and poked her head in to find a scene out of hell. Melted, scorched frying pans and pots dotted the counters and floor, both of which were stained orange from the spices and dotted with burn spots themselves. One in particular, sitting on the stove, looked like it'd exploded. The air was full of the stuff, too, to the point of making Achilles' eyes water.

"What on earth is going on here?!" she demanded of Delhi and Dragon, who were slumped against the counters, tired and sweat and spice stained.

"We're experimenting," Delhi groaned, an answer that sent something cold slithering down Achilles' spine.

"Okay..." Another knock on the door sounded out, and Achilles muffled a curse. "Alright, don't blow up the kitchen or something. I'll be back, count on it."

Stepping back out of the kitchen, Achilles took a deep breath to compose herself, then marched up to and opened the door, revealing Soryu and Ning Hai. The cruiser blinked at the former. "Soryu? You were the one who RSVP'd?"

"Yup!" The carrier puffed up her chest and tilted her head back. "Five-time all-Japan spice champion!"

"Anyway," Ning Hai cut in. "Where's the spice? I'm here for the spice."

What happened next was no thump. It was roar muffling a bang, and flames licked out of the kitchen, followed shortly by Delhi and Dragon bolting out of the room like the hounds of Hell were on their heels and they'd drenched themselves in barbecue sauce.

"Fucking _run!"_ Delhi snapped.

Most of the shipgirls involved, well acquainted with the Mad Science shipgirls, followed without question, though John Rodgers and Harrison had to grab and drag Vogelsong and Steinacker behind them. And none too soon, either, because after getting out but before anyone could ask what the fuck was going on, something orange, hot, and giving off unbelievably powerful spice fumes erupted from the roof right over where the kitchen was. It kinda looked like lava.

The gathered shipgirls spent several seconds just gaping at the sight, and then Ning Hai whirled on Delhi and Dragon. "What did you two _do?!"_ she demanded.

"We don't know!" Dragon wailed. "We were just experimenting, this shouldn't have been possible!"

"This is reminding me of Phoenix's experiments..." John Rodgers mused.

"Or Vanguard's," Nigeria added, pulling out her phone. "And since I'm pretty sure Phoenix is still on probation, so I'd better give her a call."

~o~

"Well, congrats, Delhi, Dragon. I'm stumped."

Admiral Graham stared at Vanguard, as did the two cruisers.

"Stumped," Graham repeated.

"Yup!" Vanguard nodded, looking eager. "I have no idea! Mostly because the NBC gear we have is completely inadequate for me to get close enough for a proper analysis. I put in an order for some volcanic gear, so I should have an answer in about a week."

"I suppose that's the best we could expect," Graham sighed. "As for you two, no more experiments. Ever."


	194. Rule 2658

**Rule 2658. Abyssal steel cannot be used for spare parts. If you want an idea of how bad it can get, try watching the late episodes of Claymore.**

Once a week, the Kongo sisters gathered in the headquarters building to drink tea, munch on snacks, and share gossip. Sometimes there wasn't much; sometimes they had juicy weeks that kept them at it for hours. This week was... somewhere in between.

"And Aoba still can't find whoever was making those figurines with the detachable clothes," Kirishima reported, shaking head. "Poor dear. She's practically tearing her hair out."

Her sisters made vaguely soothing noises, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. "I'll get it!" Haruna announced. Gossip resumed as she walked over to the door, and then died a swift death at Haruna's shout of surprise. "You!"

Immediately, the other three Kongos were at their baby sister's side, rigging out and 14" guns armed, aimed, and ready to fire. Harbor Princess yelped at the sudden muzzles in her face and skipped back a ways, allowing the battleships to get a good look at her. And that stayed their guns.

See, though still recognizable as the most annoying Princess-class Abyssal _ever_ , Harbor Princess normally wasn't decked out in a gray zip-up hoodie, blue jeans, and a t-shirt with the words "I'm not tsundere, I just hate you" printed on the front, nor did she usually dye her hair auburn and cover her face in enough makeup to not look like a walking corpse.

[Jeez!] the Abyssal yelped. [I come to ask for help, disguise myself to avoid a panic, and this is what I get?!]

"You surprised us," Kongo stated, dismissing her rigging. "Maybe announce your intentions next time?"

Muttered somethings drifted over the air, and then Harbor Princess threw up her hands. [Alright, fine, I'll announce myself next time! Seriously, can I come in and talk to you guys already? I'd have preferred someone higher up the ladder than the Admiral's body pillow, but what can you do.]

"Admiral's body pillow!?" Kongo screeched, and she attempted to throw herself at Harbor Princess, spitting steam and invective. Literally, in both cases. Luckily, Hiei and Kirishima managed to restrain her, and Haruna quickly beckoned Harbor Princess in.

"Sit down, sit down," the battleship said.

"Thanks," Harbor Princess said. She cocked her ear for Kongo-

"- AND THEN I'LL SKIN YOUR CUNT AND DIP IT IN CAROLINA REAPER SALT AND-!"

Never mind. She turned back around, only to flinch back from Haruna glaring down at her.

[Uh, hi?]

"Listen good, Harbor Princess," Haruna growled. "I've been polite, but if you insult any more of my sisters I will let Kongo have her way with you. Do you know what ocular virginity is?"

[No...] Harbor Princess replied, dread coiling in her gut.

Haruna flinched, her anger giving way to confusion. "W-Well, I don't know either..." Aaaand then the glare was back. "But I have it on good authority that Kongo is quite fond of taking it when in the right mood. Clear?"

[Crystal!] Harbor Princess squeaked.

And just like that, cheerful, friendly Haruna was back. "I'm glad we had this talk!" she said, sitting back down. The remaining Kongo sisters followed, this time Kirishima asking the questions, as Kongo was still literally steaming mad.

"Alright, so... what do you need help with?" she queried. "And why should we care?"

[You should care because my problem is with a shipgirl,] Harbor Princess answered, grinning at the stunned looks that produced. [Yeah, surprise! No idea where she came from, but she popped up about year back, right in my territory. And she's been a persistent nuisance ever since. And she graduated from nuisance to 'problem' just a few days ago. I want her gone. It gets her out of my territory, and I know you people. Anything to save another shipgirl.]

Kirishima, Haruna, and Hiei all exchanged glances, unable to refute any of that. "What kind of shipgirl are we talking here?" Kirishima asked.

"And how did she go from 'nuisance' to 'major problem' so quickly?" Hiei added.

[A battleship of some kind,] Harbor Princess shrugged. [The 15" shells we've had to haul out of the bodies of some of my Abyssals attests to that.]

15" shells? That wasn't a caliber either Japan or the United States had ever used. What was a European caliber doing mounted on a battleship in Indonesia?

[As for how she became a problem...] Harbor Princess leaned forward, a malicious leer on her face. [How do you think she stayed alive for a _year_ , without resupply and behind enemy lines? She harvested parts from Abyssals. And now that choice has come back to haunt her.] Standing, Harbor Princess marched towards the door. [Kill her or save her, I don't care which. I'll have my forces keep your route clear. Toodles!] And with that, she was gone.

The Kongo sisters took a moment to digest that. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Kirishima said.

"Maybe, but where are we going to get saran wrap in that kind of bulk?" Kongo answered.

Immediately, Kirishima bypassed red and went straight to all sorts of new colors, stammering all the while. "S-S-Sister! T-T-T-That's-!"

"Okay," Hiei interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I _really_ don't need the details on what you and Washington get up to in the bedroom."

"Oh my..." Haruna breathed, blushing lightly herself.

Kirishima, confronted with such remarks, tried to melt into the carpet. She failed. Kongo sat down beside her, patting her back. "Aw, c'mon, I was only teasing you," she said. "And I do think your Canada theory is a good one."

Hiei and Haruna both "ooooh'ed!" in realization.

"Alright!" Kongo declared, standing and dusting off her skirt. "I'm going to go talk to Admiral Goto. We've got a rescue operation to plan!"

~o~

Things moved fast after that. The operation was quickly approved - even if this shipgirl was fake, the amount of damage they could do on the way out was considerable. As such, the whole thing was structured as a massive thunder run: the Kongo sisters were to form the core, assisted by a large force of heavy cruisers and destroyers, including Tone and Chikuma to provide scouting. Akashi was to be forward-positioned in the Philippines to enact any repairs necessary to get their target or a fleet of shipgirls enacting a fresh from a fighting retreat back to Japan, as was Nagato for heavy backup.

And so, a week after Harbor Princess' little visit, the task force steamed around Borneo and into the Java sea to begin their search.

To everyone's surprise, though, it was not one of the Tone sisters, or even one of the battleships that spotted their quarry first.

"I got her~!" Atago chirped.

Everyone whirled around in disbelief. "Really?" Takao said.

"Yeah!" she said, nodding. "She looks like Hood, but she's wearing this really funky mask and looks kinda Abyssal-like and her eyes are red!"

That decided things, and the fleet swung in the directions Atago gave. It took a not-inconsiderable amount of careful steaming, but eventually they came within visual range of their quarry. The features and what remained of the uniform did indeed indicate a British shipgirl. The mask, naturally, was a bigger concern. It was clearly made of Abyssal metal, and still sported teeth and two Wo-like tentacles. It obscured the upper part of her face, and from the eye sockets glowed an unearthly red light.

"I'll take point," Kongo announced, steaming up to the front.

Slowly, she steamed up to the shipgirl. She didn't seem to know Kongo was there, which was just fine with her. Finally, about a thousand yards away, she stopped, and called out. "Hey-"

That was as far as she got before the shipgirl whirled around and, snarling, pounced at Kongo. The battleship had no time to do anything before the other shipgirl bowled her over, jaws and claws snapping at her and only barely fended off.

 _'Can't get her off...'_ Kongo thought as she frantically continued parrying. _'Can't teleport out, she'd shred me before I could pull it off. And they can't fire on me!'_ Out the corner of her eye, she could see destroyers beginning to flank, which was too little, too late. There was only one option.

"NAGATO!"

A yellow meteor slammed into the ground, resolving itself into the glowing form of Super Nagamon, her arms crossed. "Surrender!" she declared. "And I will let you off easy!"

Howling in anger and- was that fear? Regardless, the shipgirl pounced off the water and charged Nagato.

Big mistake. The battleship moved out of the way of the wild charge with contemptuous ease and slammed her assailant into the water hard enough to part the Java Sea to the bed, knocking out the shipgirl and shattering the mask.

When Nagato pulled her out and let the waters rush back in, Kongo saw the shipgirl's face and felt a pang of sympathy. She looked so peaceful without that mask...

~o~

Carefully, Vincennes fed a length of Abyssal steel into the hole in her side an Abyssal torpedo had left behind. Her engineering fairies had assured her this would work, but it was honestly kind of nervewracking to do. That thought, combined with her utter concentration, meant she seriously had to try hard not to scream when a hand fell on her shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, Minneapolis, don't scare me like that!" the heavy cruiser shouted at her sister.

"Sorry, sorry," Minneapolis said, not looking sorry at all. "But I don't recommend you do that. Have you been following the news from Japan lately?"

"No. Why?"

"Go check that out first before you try that again."

Blinking, Vincennes stood and went to her computer. Minneapolis counted down from thirty, and right on cue a cry of "Christ on a pogo stick, what the _fuck?!"_ sounded out.

"Mission accomplished."


	195. Rule 2661

**Rule 2661. Placing a live giant octopus in the docks and blaming it on Kraken is wrong.**

San Francisco groaned as she eased herself into the baths, feeling the blessed water seep into her injuries and soothe the pain. Battleship shells. Always with the battleship shells! Why she was the only heavy cruiser on the damn planet who seemed to get targeted by enemy battleships on any regular basis was something she'd tried to get research to no avail, and at this point she was simply resigned to the fact.

At least she was better off than Canberra, she mused as the cruiser in question was carefully placed in the bath. She'd eaten three torpedoes, and that was after getting ambushed by three heavy cruisers at once. That had to hurt.

And Canberra wasn't the only one. There was a steady stream of shipgirls flowing into the massive bath, some (mostly destroyers) intact enough to splash around and roughhouse, others unconscious, though none in as bad a shape as the heavy cruiser.

The stream of damaged shipgirls had finally ended when one of the destroyers - Livermore, from the looks of things - suddenly shrieked.

"What is it?" she heard Plunkett ask.

"I felt something around my foot! Something slimy!"

"You sure it wasn't just your-"

"Yaaaagh!"

Eyes shifted to Miami, who had practically hopped out of the bath. Now San Francisco was _sure_ something was up; jumpy destroyers were one thing, but a cruiser?

"Something slimy?" Pasadena queried.

"With suckers! Around my leg!"

Everyone fell silent at that, quite a few green, squeamish looks going around. Finally, San Juan sighed and plunged her hand into the water. "Look, there's nothing here," she said, rummaging around. "Here, I'll prove it." And with that, she pulled her hand out - as well as a truly massive octopus with its legs wrapped around her hand.

Everyone stared at the octopus. San Juan stared at the octopus. The octopus stared back. The arms, San Francisco guesstimated, were a good twenty feet long. Unbidden, probably the worst thing she could have said slipped out of her lips.

"I've seen enough hentai to know where _this_ is going."

That was when the screaming started. San Juan flung the octopus off of her arm as shipgirls sloshed for the edges of the tub, the cephalopod hitting the water and letting out a cloud of ink. San Francisco was one of them, despite her screaming injuries, and thankfully the battleships and carriers were assisting the smaller, more heavily-damaged shipgirls. Next target: the doors out.

~o~

"Depth charges _suck..._ " Kraken groaned as she limped towards the docks. Then again, it was her own damn fault that she had stuck around after torpedoing that cruiser. Whatever. Right now she needed a soak in the docks, turning over the disastrous encounter could wait until she was in the healing waters.

However, when she got to the door leading in, she was nearly bowled over by a mob of screaming, wet, naked, and variously injured shipgirls. Before she could say even a "What the fuck", a hand reached out from the crowd, grabbed her by the swimsuit, and slammed her against the nearest wall, painfully jostling her damaged ribs.

"Hey, watch the-" she began, a knee to the gut interrupting her.

"Shut up," San Francisco growled. Despite her obvious injuries, she was still thoroughly intimidating; in fact, the wounds only enhanced the image. "What on earth possessed you to put a giant octopus in the docks?"

"I did _what?"_ Kraken demanded. At the skeptical glare from her captor, the submarine elaborated. "I'm a squid girl! It's in the name! _Kraken!_ Y'know, a giant _squid?!"  
_  
With obvious reluctance, San Francisco let Kraken go - and then collapsed into a heap on the floor.

"You were staying upright through sheer adrenaline, huh?" Kraken deadpanned.

"Uh-huh..." came the muffled reply.


	196. Rule 2665

**Rule 2665. While attempting to raise destroyer morale via candy is, in some ways admirable, you may not attempt to do so by creating one-foot diameter jawbreakers.**

"We need to do something about destroyer morale."

The rest of the Omaha sisters, who had mostly just been peacefully relaxing in the lounge they were all scattered around, all looked at Raleigh, expressions quizzical.

"Have you _seen_ the destroyers lately?" she demanded. "The Gearings in particular?"

"No," Marblehead said.

"I've been kind of avoiding them," Memphis admitted. "They're kind of pissed off at me for the ping-pong thing."

"That!" Raleigh exclaimed before anyone else could chime in, jabbing a finger at Memphis. "You got the ping-pong table removed for good, and now the destroyers are all restless and shit! They're _this close_ to getting _bored!_ "

Everyone paled at that; hell, Trenton immediately shot to her feet and ran screaming out of the room.

"Okay, I'm guessing you have a suggestion?" a paler-than-the-rest Memphis asked.

"I do!"

~o~

 _"This_ is your solution?!" Concord demanded. Right in front of them was a massive stack of foot-wide jawbreakers. And not smooth, even ones, either; these were lumpy and misshapen and clearly handmade.

"What's the problem?" Raleigh asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Destroyers love candy!"

"Raleigh..." Marblehead sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You made _jawbreakers_. Already one of the least popular candies out there. And you made them _a foot wide._ Nobody's gonna be able to eat these things even if they wanted to!"

"Look," Detroit cut in before Raleigh could start shouting at her sister. "Why don't we get some destroyers in here, get their opinions and all? Raleigh, you were planning to give these away for free, right?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent. Then there should be no problem."

Both Raleigh and Marblehead had problems, in fact. Both seemed to think that their positions were sufficiently self-evident to not need proving. Leaving Detroit to deal with _that_ clusterfuck, Concord slipped away to where the rest of the class were busy comforting a still-terrified Memphis. Well. Most. Trenton was probably halfway to Richmond by now, and the namesake cruiser of that city had apparently disappeared on them, too.

"So, where'd Richmond go?" she asked Omaha, Milwaukee, and Cincinnati.

Milwaukee and Omaha didn't answer in favor of rubbing Memphis' back and making soothing noises, and keeping her from rocking too much, respectively, but Cincinnati had time to answer.

"She said she had to step out and take care of something. What, I don't know."

Concord digested that, and then shrugged, turning back to the argument between Marblehead and Raleigh. She was just in time to see Detroit snap and punch both of their faces into the concrete before storming off.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Omaha, Milwaukee, and Cincinnati all gave her odd looks, but quickly went back to what they were doing , leaving their hysterical sister to her... well, hysterics. Besides, Detroit arrived shortly thereafter with a destroyer in tow. And what followed was ample cause for laughter.

~o~

"Hmm," Gyatt hummed as she examined the stack of jawbreakers. In truth, she'd decided on her answer already, but it was fun watching Raleigh and Marblehead squirm in her peripheral vision. Eh, best not to overextend it.

"This is a stupid idea," she finally said.

Marblehead looked smug, while Raleigh looked indignant. "It's a great idea!" she protested.

"No, it's a stupid one," Gyatt shot back with all the child's certainty she could muster. "Nobody likes jawbreakers. Because they suck. And they especially don't like the baseball-sized ones. Because they suck even more. You can't get your jaw around them without breaking it. QED, your basketball jawbreakers suck the most."

Raleigh stood stock still, gaping, for a second, before falling to her knees and breaking into sobbing tears. "Waaaaaahhhhh, you just don't understand!"

"No, I do understand," Gyatt says as she kneeled down next to Raleigh. "I understand that it sucks."

"Waaaaahhhhh!"

Ignoring the ongoing histrionics, Detroit and Marblehead gathered in huddled conversation.

"Okay, as daft as Raleigh's idea was, she's right about one thing: destroyer morale needs to go up, and free candy's a good way to do it," Detroit said.

"Yeah, but where are we going to find candy in that kind of bulk?" Marblehead said back. "And at prices that won't bankrupt us, that's important, too."

Suddenly, the two heard a squeal of delight, followed by the sound of a semitruck backing up. Breaking the huddle, the two cruisers saw that there was, indeed, a semitruck backing up - and from its open rear doors, it was stuffed to the gills with candy. The squeal had come from Gyatt, whose eyes were now literally shining at the sight. Capping off the whole image was a very smug Richmond sitting on top of the trailer.

"How... buh... why..." Marblehead stammered.

"Did you know that most retail wholesalers end up with lots of extra candy sitting on their shelves every month?" Richmond asked. "I just had Admiral Briggs set up an expense account - not even a big one! - made some calls, and voila, free candy for destroyers!"

"Free?" Gyatt breathed.

"Yup. Free."

Squealing at a pitch that just barely avoided going above human register, Gyatt sprinted for the truck, dove in, and began rolling in the boxes like an eager puppy.

"And _that's_ how you raise destroyer morale!" Richmond smugly declared.


	197. Rule 2666

**Rule 2666. This should be common sense, but we must make it known: Always KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER A ROOM.**

Sendai strode down the corridors of one of Japan's many indoor arenas, dressed in a nice skirt suit, glasses, and an impenetrable air of "I know exactly where I'm going, you peons." Nobody stopped her. Stealth, after all, was more then just being unseen. Often, being seen and dismissed, or being seen and let through on the assumption that you belonged there, were more powerful tools.

And why was she infiltrating this concert venue? Simple: she wanted to finally, once and for all, see what went on behind the scenes at these idol concerts. She'd heard the rumors, of course; _everyone_ knew the rumors, fueled by a thousand different Idolmaster doujins and plenty of sex scandals.

As such, she'd arrived just after the concert ended; the best time to infiltrate and catch her sister at something behind the scenes. By the time she arrived at the rooms set aside for Naka's dressing room and a bit of a relaxation area, Sendai figured her sister'd had enough time to start... whatever she wanted.

The last obstacle were two burly, besuited men. She knew the type; more there to look intimidating than actually guard Naka. If she was a regular idol, then this would've been harder, but they were bodyguarding a _shipgirl_. Short of an armored battalion with organic helicopter support, no human threat was going to actually be a danger, which meant they were more there to protect everyone else from the shipgirl.

So when they held their hands over the door and said "You're not supposed to be here.", Sendai found it _cute_.

"Of course I am," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "You didn't get the memo?"

The two guards nervously glanced at each other, before the one on the left tried again. "We'll need to see some-"

"Don't you know who I am?" Sendai demanded, glaring at the two men like they were slime on her nice shoes. The two immediately shuffled out of the way. "Thank you."

And with that, Sendai opened the door.

The heat. The smell. The acres of bare flesh. Oh, yes, this was quite familiar. Oh, Naka had her hair down! Such a rare sight!

"Nice!" Sendai chirped, flashing her sister a thumbs up. That was followed by a water bottle bouncing off her head.

"Knock next time, for fuck's sake!" Naka screeched. "And I mean that literally!"

~o~

North Carolina moaned like a zombie, and moved like one. Week-long missions tended to do that to a shipgirl. Right now, all she wanted to do was get to her nice warm bed and fall into a two-day coma or something. Her sluggish brain really wasn't up to the task of a better analogy.

This is probably how she mistook her sister Washington's door for her own, and why she opened without knocking. It was her door, right? No need to knock.

Unfortunately, it was _not_ her door, and the sight inside did a good job of jolting her awake, at least for a little bit.

Inside were Washington and Kirishima. The former was standing, a paddle in hand. The latter was bent over a desk moved into the middle of the room, gagged and blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back. Lit candles, rope, and lots of skimpy black latex completed the picture. Honestly, the details didn't matter, her brain was already frantically trying to scrub away the images.

North Carolina stared. Washington stared back. Kirishima whimpered.

"Let's face it, this is _not_ the worst thing you've caught me doing," Washington finally said.

"No," the Showboat agreed. "I think I might have the wrong room." And with that, she closed the door, walked over to her own room, and flopped into bed, not even bothering to change clothes.

Hopefully by morning she wouldn't remember any of it.

~o~

Royal Oak felt conflicted.

Revenge had finally managed to convince her to give rap a try in the form of several CDs with what her sister had called "Some'a the best damn music you'll evah heah!" And now, three hours later, Royal Oak was willing to admit that, as much as it was crude and not to her tastes, it was a legitimate music genre. She grimaced as it occurred to her that Revenge was going to be smug for _days_. Ah well. It was worth it.

Probably.

Standing, she gathered up the CDs and then exited her room to go return them and also tell Revenge of her little epiphany. She swung open the door to Revenge's room-

And then reeled back at the coppery scent of blood.

Revenge stood ankle-deep in the stuff, an axe, dripping blood in her hand, and a pile of bodies stacked up to the ceiling. They were all female, impossibly beautiful even in their mutilated state, and just looking at them she had an urge to attack Revenge for this. It was easily resisted, as much due to sheer shock as anything else.

"... Could you knock next time?" Revenge weakly asked, not a hint of her ridiculous accent to be heard.

Royal Oak nodded, not trusting her voice. "Mary Sues?" she asked.

A nod in return.

"I'm just... going to leave. Clean this up, okay?"

Closing the door, Royal Oak looked at the CDs in her hand, and then placed them out the door. She needed to get a drink. Or several.


	198. Rule 2667

**Rule 2667. Ninja weapons are to only be used by those who are trained to use them.**

It's just another day in San Diego when several shuriken whirl out - and then plop pathetically to the grass.

Montpelier scratched her head at that, holding up another shuriken and examining it. "This is harder than it looks..." she muttered. "What am I doing wrong?"

To explain why Montpelier was fooling around with shuriken, we must first note that she was one of the few US Navy warships period to be summoned with any serious nightfighting skills. As such, she'd worked with the generally more skilled Japanese shipgirls in the early days before being rotated stateside to help teach, and there she'd met Sendai.

Boy had that been awkward at first, especially when Jintsuu had tried to stab her. But they'd worked it out, and Montpelier had found herself quite enamored with the Japanese shipgirl's nightfighting skills. Also, she was a ninja. How cool was that?!

Emulating her was the logical next step. Hence why she was practicing with shuriken. And she had improved, as the band-aids on her fingers attested to. As such, she simply retrieved her shuriken, and began throwing them again. Most flopped back to the grass, but one flew true and behind a line of shrubs.

"Yes!" Montpelier cheered.

"Yargh!"

"No!" Montpelier wailed. She sprinted up to the shrub line, peeked through the leaves, and prayed she hadn't killed somebody.

She hadn't.

The actual result was probably worse, though.

"Who the fuck threw this shuriken?!" New Jersey shouted, in her workout clothes with her hand splayed around the shuriken stuck in her eye.

Slowly, Montpelier crept away, collected her shuriken, and began plotting how to get out of this situation. Hmm. Wisconsin and Midway were weebs, and they could withstand an angry New Jersey. Yeah. Yeah, that was the ticket.

~o~

"Alright, just keep the eye wrapped up for a few days and get some rest, and it should be fine," Medusa reported. "Your fairies are doing a very good job there; all I needed to do was supply a few components."

"I don't want to get some rest," New Jersey growled. "I want to find whoever did this and kill them!"

"I'm afraid that would qualify as 'over-exerting yourself'." Suddenly, there was a syringe in Medusa's hand, a drop of its contents leaking out the top. "And in that case, I'd have to sedate you. For your own good."

"On second thought, I can do most of the finding from a bed. Or couch," New Jersey hastily amended.

The door opened, and an annoyed-looking Wisconsin tromped in, holding up Montpelier by the back of her collar.

"Guess who I just found trying to plant shuriken in my underwear drawer?" she asked.

"I didn't know it was your underwear drawer!" Montpelier protested.

"You were rummaging through it for a solid thirty seconds!"

"I didn't know it was underwear! I thought it was sewing supplies! Who _wears_ that kind of stuff, anyway?!"

"Ahem."

The bickering shipgirls halted and looked to New Jersey. "Before we get _too_ TMI in here, you said something about shuriken?"

Montpelier paled, while Wisconsin grinned. "Yup. Well-made stuff, too." She eyed her elder sister's medical eyepatch, and the shuriken still lying on one of Medusa's surgical tables. "Kinda like that one."

Montpelier whimpered. Medusa stepped back. And New Jersey... well, the expression on her face would send most Installations running in fear as she cracked her knuckles.

don't do it again unless you're practicing with me supervising, okay?"

"Yes, mom..."

~o~

Sendai reached for Naka's door, paused, and then knocked.

"Come in!" came the reply. "And, uh, could you give me a hand with something?"

Frowning, Sendai opened the door, and very quickly saw what Naka needed help with. Somehow, she'd gotten wrapped up in the chains of a kusari-gama, the blade sticking out of her shoulder. It took everything Sendai had to suppress the laughter, and a loud snort and several seconds of giggles still forced their way out.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Just help me out already!" Naka grumbled.

Shaking her head, Sendai propped her sister up and yanked out the blade before working at the chain, the former action drawing a pained hiss from Naka. As for the chain, it was impressively tightly wound.

"How did you even manage this, anyway?" Sendai asked.

"I don't know!" Naka answered. "I was just trying to use it like you do, and the next thing I know I'm like this!"

"Mmph..." Sendai grunted, undoing a particularly stubborn length. "Just don't do it again unless you're practicing with me supervising, okay?"

"Yes, mom..."

THWACK!

"Ow!"


	199. Rule 2668

**Rule 2668. Using the "poisoned candy" excuse to confiscate** ** _all_** **the candy the destroyers got by trick-or-treating is a terrible idea and you deserve whatever punishment you get.  
**  
Of all the holidays in the US, Halloween was the most popular among shipgirls, just barely beating out Christmas. Presents were nice, but all the free candy you could wrangle and the chance to dress however the fuck you liked kind of outweighed it. That, and you didn't have to worry about a stupid-ass tree on Halloween.

Of course, as with all holidays, there were the grinches, the people who adamantly didn't like the holiday and made their opinion on the matter very clear. Most of them kept their mouths shut and simply holed up in their rooms for the night, knowing that any attempt to stop people from going trick-or-treating, regardless of tonnage, would simply be met with a blank stare and a cry of "Too old for free candy? Never!" Or beatings, depending on the vehemence of the objection.

But a very few shipgirls in San Diego still objected strenuously to the holiday, and looked for some way to ruin it. San Jacinto was one of them; the over-commercialization of the holiday annoyed her to no end, and the plethora of "sexy" costumes outright pissed her off. Still, she hadn't had much luck finding a way to ruin the holiday this year - or at least, a way that wouldn't immediately have a few hundred destroyers trying to imitate the Ewoks with her as a Stormtrooper.

But as she read through random internet articles while the destroyers went a'trick or treating, she found something that might let her not only ruin the holiday, but also let her get away scot-free. She quickly printed off an article, and then headed for the room where the destroyers ended every year's trick or treating.

She got there just as the last destroyer trickled in, and it suddenly hit her how many people would be utterly pissed off at her if she didn't pull this off. But she would. The plan was a good one. It would work!

"Attention, everyone!" she announced, drawing every eye towards her. "I just got word that there may have been poisoned candy given out in the area this year!"

"Oh, bullshit!" someone shouted.

"I have proof!" San Jacinto declared, waving around her article to make the point. That shut up the front line, and the knowledge steadily trickled back. "Besides, I'm not here to steal your candy. I'm just here to do an inspection, and then you can have it all back."

There were some more mutterings about that, but finally, the destroyers formed up in a ragged line, and began handing over her candy. One of them even gave her a pen to mark the bags with, which San Jacinto gladly did to help perpetuate the illusion. And when it was done, the light carrier stowed the candy, thanked the destroyers, and promised to get it back to them in two days.

Now the question was what to do with all this candy. Hand it out? Nah, that defeated the purpose. Dump it in the sea? That was such a waste. Well... it _was_ candy...

Reaching into her hold, San Jacinto grabbed and held up a miniature Hershey's bar. Well, it was her candy now, right?

~o~

The next day, outrage gripped San Diego.

"What do you _mean_ there was no poisoned candy?!" Nicholas demanded.

 _"Of course_ there was no poisoned candy!" North Carolina shouted in reply, throwing up her hands. "Don't tell me you guys actually fell for that old trick!"

"Hey, girls, I've got a bridge to Terabithia to sell ya!" Ticonderoga interjected, grinning.

"Suck a horse dong, Ticonderoga!" Nicholas shouted back, before turning on her heel and marching away. "This will not stand! We will find San Jacinto, and if our candy is not untouched, she is going to die the most painful death we can think of!"

The Showboat winced; destroyers were vicious little suckers when they put their minds to it.

"Don't bother," Cowpens suddenly interjected. "Monterey had to haul her over to Medusa to get her stomach pumped; she ate, like, a literal ton of candy."

Nicholas bypassed red and went straight to purple at that news. "FUCKER ATE _ALL_ THE CANDY! STOMACH-PUMPING ISN'T ENOUGH!" Taking a deep breath, the destroyer continued her tirade, just at indoor volumes. "In fact, forget any physical retribution! I'm calling in Laffey! She'll know how to drive that stupid bird farm insane!"

"Hang on," Cowpens cut in again, her eyes on her phone. "Okay, Medusa is reporting that she's going to need to cut San Jacinto open and unblock her digestive tract."

Everyone present winced at that, even Nicholas.

"Y'know, on second thought, I think this is punishment enough," the destroyer chuckled nervously.


	200. Rule 2669

**Rule 2669. We understand that some of you girls have a need to satisfy your sweet tooth, but really, pulling into port at the entirety of** **Lofty Pursuits** **' property for their candy is a bit much.  
**  
Of all the naval bases with shipgirls, Norfolk was the one with the highest candy consumption. Unsurprising, considering the large portion of DEs and DDs. It was all the heavier ships and some of the human personnel could do to keep candy intake limited to high but manageable levels. And merchandise wholesalers from Charleston to Baltimore loved them, considering they were more than happy to take their excess candy off their hands.

Considering it was an ad-hoc, thrown-together system, it mostly worked. But on occasion, it didn't. The Gearings and 4-pipers were, for the most part, mature enough to wait. The DEs were not. They tended to get cranky.

Nobody liked cranky DEs. Especially when they took things into their own hands.

"This sucks!" Reuben James whined, flopping back onto a convenient couch. "Where's the candy? There's no candy!"

Herzog rolled her eyes, though she privately agreed with the other DE. The difference was that she'd socked away a good chunk of her Halloween candy for just this eventuality. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a Hershey bar, grinned, and began to peel off the wrapper.

Reuben James was brought out of her mental railing when Herzog let out a shriek and tossed a chocolate bar into the corner. "Hey, you had candy?!" she demanded indignantly. "And you weren't going to share?!"

"Hell no!" Herzog shot back, standing. "But now you can have it if you want it. I want to go check my stash..."

Her exit was ignored by Reuben James in favor of the DE practically diving for the corner where the chocolate bar had ended up. Maybe she'd need to wipe some carpet fuzz off, she thought as she picked it up, but it was chocolate! Chocola-

Reuben James recoiled in horror and disgust when she saw what it was that had prompted Herzog to toss the chocolate at the wall in the first place: worms. White, wriggling worms crawling out of the chocolate. Slowly, her face blank, Reuben James stood, marched to the nearest incinerator, tossed the chocolate in, and then robotically went through the rest of the day before being awoken in the middle of the night by screaming nightmares to be comforted by one of the cruisers.

And in the process, she made a promise.

~o~

Two mornings later, Tallahassee, Florida was treated to the sight of damn near every DE in the Atlantic Fleet marching north up Highway 363 at a steady fifteen miles an hour. By the time they reached and moved onto US 319, they had attracted a good-sized crowd, several state police officers, and two local news crews. That they were utterly silent only fueled everyone's curiosity.

Soon, the shipgirls had cleared most of Tallahassee proper, and were approaching the junction with Interstate 10. The crowd had swelled, seemingly half the city and surrounding suburbs turned out to watch, police and news helicopters hovering overhead. Eventually, the shipgirls reached a strip mall, and they quickly surrounded a candy shop called Lofty Pursuits. Many heads nodded in the crowd. That made sense; the DEs wanted candy and had seen the shop's Youtube videos.

One DE in particular stepped forward, took a deep breath, and then _shouted_.

"HEY! BRING OUT THE CANDY ALREADY!"

After a few seconds, a head poked out. "Do you have money?"

Five hundred hands reached into five hundred pockets and pulled out five hundred wallets of varying levels of cutesy. Nodding, the employee ducked back in, and the DEs settled in to wait.

They waited for two minutes before a car horn caused them to jump.

"Hey, you're blockin' the road!" came the voice from a shiny new F-150.

One of the destroyer escorts, USS Riley, promptly stepped out from the crowd and gave one of the front tires a heart kick. The blow bent the axle upwards and collapsed the wheel, driving the axle up into the engine compartment. And as salt in the wound, Riley stuck her tongue out at him.

~o~

Back in Norfolk, Admiral Briggs was watching the proceedings in gape-mouth horror, heedless of the mustard-drenched tomato that had slipped out of his lunch and into his lap. Slowly, his expression shifting not an iota, he moved his free hand to the intercom button and pressed.

 _"Would someone get down to Tallahassee and get those damn destroyer escorts under control already?!"_


	201. Rule 2672

**Rule 2672. It has come to our attention that Abyssals CAN hit puberty. We are currently attempting to coax Nagato down from Tokyo Tower where she has been for the last week.  
**  
Nagato sighed happily as Hoppo-chan skipped out of her room, dressed in the cute turtleneck sweater and skirt she'd bought for the little Abyssal shortly after she'd defected. A cute skirt that was somehow a lot shorter than she remembered. And was that a flash of belly when she moved?

No. She was just imagining things. And besides, Hoppo-chan growing a little wasn't anything wrong, was it?

"Good morning, Hoppo-chan!" Nagato declared.

[Morninga, Nagato-mama,] Hoppo replied as she went for the cereal. [Can we go shopping today? My clothes are getting kinda small.] Bowl in hand, she sat down, tugging at her skirt. [I'm starting to run out of skirts and pants that fit.]

Okay... so on a second look Hoppo-chan's hips were getting wider... that didn't mean anything... it didn't!

None of this showed on Nagato's face. She wouldn't let it. "We can go clothes shopping today," was what she actually said. "How much do you need to replace?"

Hoppo-chan hummed in thought. [Probably all of it.]

This time, the dismay Nagato felt was expressed. Denial might have been her response to the idea of Hoppo-chan in- no, couldn't even finish that idea. But for her poor wallet, she was perfectly willing to express dismay.

~o~

 _Hours_ later, Nagato, Hoppo-chan, and Mutsu, who'd tagged along to carry bags, provide another perspective, and handle Nagato while she went Nagamon, slumped onto a bench at a nearby shopping center, surrounded by bags of clothes. They'd bought some of _everything:_ shirts, pants, shorts, skirts, dresses, jackets, socks, shoes. Even a cute swimsuit, though Mutsu had taken the lead on that one. The battleship ran through the shopping list again; that just left...

"Underwear..." Nagato groaned. "Hoppo-chan, do you-"

[Yeah, sorry.]

"I know a place," Mutsu sighed, pulling herself to her feet. "Shall we?"

'A place' turned out to be a normal kids' clothing store well off the beaten path. Still, things were going well, aside from an argument between Nagato and Hoppo on the merits of striped panties that the Abyssal won, until an attendant wandered over, and after one look at Hoppo inserted herself into the shopping.

"I see your, uh..." To the attendant's credit, the short pause was barely noticeable. "Daughter is ready for a training bra. Now, we have-"

"NO!"

The poor employee flinched back at Nagato's sudden, wild-eyed exclamation.

"She doesn't need a training bra! She'll never need a training bra! My Hoppo-chan will stay young and cute forever and ever and-!"

Suddenly, Nagato's eyes rolled up in her head, and she slumped to the ground in a boneless heap, revealing Hoppo-chan holding up two fingers. Mutsu raised an eyebrow.

"When did you learn the Vulcan Nerve Pinch, Hoppo-chan?" she asked.

[Just last week,] Hoppo-chan said, before turning to the attendant. [Sorry about that. So, about these 'training bras'...]

~o~

"Yup," Akashi stated, stepping back. "You're definitely going through puberty. Really early stages, though."

[So... what happens?] Hoppo-chan asked as she hopped off the table.

"Oh, lots of things, Hoppo-chan," Mutsu interjected, leaning down to place her hands on Hoppo-chan's shoulders. "But let's not trouble Akashi any longer. Auntie Mutsu will tell you everything."

[Auntie... don't be creepy about this...] Hoppo grumbled as the two left.

That left Akashi to wonder where Nagato had gone. She'd been here when Hoppo and Mutsu had arrived...

~o~

Fubuki stared up at the top of Tokyo Tower, and sighed explosively. "So she's still not coming down?"

The policeman next to her opened his mouth to respond-

"REEEEEEEEEE!"

But Nagato screeching at a passing helicopter answered that question.

"I'll call a crane ship," Fubuki sighed.


	202. Rule 2675

**Rule 2675. Abyssals do not eat humans or shipgirls, hell we're not even sure they eat at all sometimes.  
**  
"Hey, sis? I have a question."

Giuseppe Garibaldi fought the urge to sigh. Her older sister, Abruzzi, was not the sharpest tool in the shed, and so answering her questions could often be an exercise in explaining the obvious. Still, better her than someone more short-tempered. Like Gorizia.

"Yes?" she replied.

"What do Abyssals eat?"

The urge to sigh became an urge to roll her eyes. Another obvious answer. Of course Abyssals ate...! Uh... wait a minute...

"What _do_ they eat?" Garibaldi muttered, scratching her head. _"Do_ they even eat?"

"Uh, sis?" Abruzzi queried.

"I... don't know," Garibaldi admitted.

"What?! But you're, like, the smartest and bestest shipgirl in Italy! You know everything!" Abruzzi protested.

A bit of red dusted the light cruiser's cheeks at the earnest praise. "Well, thank you, but I don't actually know everything. No one does, except God himself. I _do_ know someone I can ask who should be more knowledgeable on the subject."

"Really? Who?"

~o~

"Oh, Roma!" Abruzzi exclaimed, plopping a fist in her palm. "Of course!"

The battleship - still behind the Admiral's desk - raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing Abruzzi asked this question first?"

"Yeah, but now she's got me all curious, too," Garibaldi said. "Plus, it might have strategic implications."

Roma grimaced. Yes, it did. And not good ones, either.

"If anyone asks, I never told you this," she stated, injecting a bit of warning into her voice. It was gratifying to see both cruisers sit up a little straighter at that. "We have reason to believe that Abyssals eat humans for sustenance. And that if they got the chance, they'd be even more eager to eat a shipgirl."

Abruzzi paled, and then went green. Garibaldi, meanwhile, simply looked thoughtful, and so missed when Abruzzi suddenly stood up and bolted out of the room.

"Why did your sister run out of the room?" Roma asked.

That brought the light cruiser out of her thoughts, and she paled dramatically upon realizing what had happened. "Shit!" Garibaldi yelped. "She's gonna tell the whole base!"

"What?!" Roma roared, before sprinting after her. "Not on my damn watch!"

Garibaldi, alone in the office, blinked a few times. Ah, well, let Roma handle that. She had a bigger question.

Namely, how bullshit on a scale of one to a cow patty was that explanation? Because it was pretty bullshit. The Abyssals eating humans? If that were true, they'd have collapsed long ago; the only Abyssal-held territory that might have supported a large enough human population was the Harbor Princess' territory.

Clearly, Roma wasn't going to give her the answers. And luckily, she knew someone else who probably had a better idea.

~o~

"They eat whatever we eat, duh," Quincy stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Garibaldi nodded. That made sense.

"Hell, they eat _more_ than what we eat," the heavy cruiser continued. "Not as many taboos, y'know? We had one Allied Abyssal try to bring a dog to a cookout."

And sadly, that made a lot of sense, too.

"So what do the hostile Abyssals eat, then?"

"Some nutrient paste stuff the Installations make," was the shrugged answer. "How the Installations eat is beyond us. Hoppo-chan's been pretty tight-lipped on the subject."

Garibaldi would have nodded again, but she could hear an odd, faint noise, much akin to a distant riot.

"Garibaldi, what-"

"Ssh."

That noise was getting louder, it seemed like. Okay, no it was definitely getting louder.

"Okay, I hear that now, too," her American friend said. "What's going on?"

With eyes far superior to any human's, they soon spotted the source of the disturbance: every Italian shipgirl in Taranto marching up a street waving signs that said things like "Bring out the truth!" and "We won't become food for the Americans!"

SLAP!

And there was Garibaldi bringing her hand to her face.

"Why are we allied with you guys again?" Quincy wondered only half-jokingly.


	203. Rule 2681

**Rule 2681. Pola and Jun'yo are not allowed to be in the same zip code together while drunk, Warspite and half the Royal Navy girls are still crying in the showers, and nobody knows (or really wants to know at this point) what happened.**

Morning came to Junyo in a familiar symphony of cranial agony. Her mouth felt like it had grown fur overnight. What was new, though, was a horrible, awful squeaking sound, and the fact that she felt like she'd gotten a full-body workover with a mochi mallet. Luckily, she had a cure. Concentrating, she flushed pure shipgirl magic through her body, her fairies aiding her by turning her ventilation system up to full blast. Within seconds, the worst of the hangover fled her body, though she knew that she'd need to get some water to fully get over it.

Opening her eyes - and not screaming in agony at the light - she stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, that horrendous squeaking noise still trying to drill into her brain. And her clothes felt... tight. Looking down, she found herself wearing not her usual hakama and jacket, but a skirt and top combo that looked like what Pola wore. Correction. It _was_ Pola's outfit. And boy was it tight. The top was straining at the seams, and the skirt was short enough to qualify as obscene on her taller frame.

And then, when she sat up, she saw the last piece. Signs. Signs _everywhere_. Road signs, store signs - even a billboard, and how she'd managed to finagle that through the too-small and completely intact door was a mystery, even sober.

Oh, and they were all in Italian.

"What the fuck did I do last night?" she muttered, standing and going up to the window.

Sure enough, outside was the bright, sunny Egyptian coastal landscape instead of bright, sunny Japanese coastal landscape. Bright, sunny Egyptian landscape marred by smoke rising above several piles of rubble that had once been city blocks. Somehow, Junyo had a feeling this was more than one of her usual benders.

Alright. Mystery-solving time. She needed to exit this room, and go find out what happened. Simple.

"Hurk!"

Though maybe she should see who was in the bathroom, first. Peeking her head in revealed Illustrious, her bun completely undone to let her hair cascade down her back, something that failed to hide that she was wearing a bunny girl outfit with a hole cut out of the belly. The British carrier didn't notice Junyo's attention, too focused on worshipping the porcelain throne, and after a moment Junyo left her to her agony.

Stepping into the hall, Junyo quickly found the source of that squeaking noise: a red American toy cart, directed by a smug British fairy (though I repeat myself) and with the destroyer HMS Kimberley sprawled on top of the battleship Warspite. Both are flatly unconscious. A sinking pit opened up in Junyo's stomach: she remembered running into Warspite, though not much else. Something to do with breaking into the headquarters. Great. But first...

Reaching out, she halted the cart in its tracks, quelling the fairy with her best glare when it tries to protest. The squeak of fear it let out is quite gratifying.

"Now, where are my clothes?" she muttered.

From appearance, she was in a hotel of some kind. Opening the door to the next room down found Ning Hai, in her dragon form, curled up on a horde of empty liquor bottles. A memory of gleefully riding the Chinese shipgirl's dragon form, terrorizing the streets, sprang to mind at the sight. The pit promptly grew deeper.

The _next_ room after that finally reveals where her clothes went: sprawled on another pile of liquor bottles was Pola, veritably swimming in Junyo's hakama with the jacket being used as a pillow rather than covering her currently-bare torso, and a keg of some kind clutched to her body like a pillow. Briefly, Junyo considered waking up Pola, but a memory of fighting with several Royal Navy shipgirls grumpy at being woken up in the middle of the night and the commensurate throbbing from her bruises reminded her that that may not be the best idea.

Instead, she headed down the stairs, finding herself in the large lobby of the hotel. Smack dab in the middle is a statue of... someone. Some dude on a horse. Anyway, the statue still has dirt on its base, indicating it'd been ripped up at some point recently, and more importantly, it's way too large to fit through the doors. Which are undamaged. As are the walls.

"How the fuck...?" Junyo muttered.

The figure slumped at the base of the statue mercifully draws her attention away from the impossibility of the statue, though the mystery there isn't much better. It's Central Princess, dressed in a Wo-class' outfit, staring in horror alternatively at a ring on her finger and a sheet of paper in her other hand.

Off to the right of the room was Aquila, her clothes mussed, hair out of its usual ponytail, and surrounded by six unconscious Egyptian men, her eyes wide with raw panic. Upon seeing Junyo, she opened her mouth-

Only for a scream to catch everyone's attention. Junyo, Aquila, and Central Princess - the latter wincing in pain - all dashed towards the nearest window - and blinked owlishly at the sight of the frigate Indefatigable tied up upside-down in a veritable spider's web of rope, with Droits de L'Homme happily cuddling her in her sleep. In her underwear.

"Help me!" the British frigate wailed.

And finally, to cap it all off, the door was thrown open, prompting everyone to wince and turn away from the window. Standing in the doorway was Aurora, patently hungover, with bags under her eyes, her hat and jacket missing and a tablecloth wrapped around her waist instead of her skirt.

Upon seeing Junyo, her mouth curled up into an angry snarl. "Junyo!" she snapped. "I am hungover, my skirt, jacket, and hat are missing, and I can't find Lance! You are helping me find all of them, or I swear to God, I'm giving you over to the authorities _immediately!"  
_  
That seemed to spark something, because Aquila and Central Princess both promptly rounded on Junyo, the former panicked and the latter just as pissed.

[Yes, please,] the Installation hissed. [Help me find out why I'm _legally married_ to _Worktown_ and not Iowa!]

"I don't remember last night!" Aquila wailed, tearing at her hair. "There are six men unconscious over there, I may have had sex, and _I don't remember!_ It's been six months, I _need_ to remember!" _  
_  
"Maybe a little help out here, first?!" Indefatigable's voice drifted in from outside. "I really don't like the look on Droits' face!"

"Shut up..."

Junyo turned around, grateful for the distraction, though the look Illustrious gives her as she staggers down the stairs makes her want to rethink the idea. Then Pola staggered out, before hitting the railing and falling straight down to the lobby floor, letting out a loud belch from her spot on the floor. Okay, she's fine...

And finally, there's Warspite, staggering down the stairs with unfocused eyes, Kimberly noodleing her way behind the battleship, moaning piteously.

"Damn you all to hell..." the battleship groaned.

"What did _we_ do?!] Central Princess, Aurora, and Aquila all protest.

Suddenly, there's an explosion outside, and Junyo realizes that this is officially, actually the worst morning she's ever had. And that's saying something.

"You..." Warspite hissed. "You did this, you and Pola. You wrecked the city, got poor Kimberly drunk, and-" Suddenly, the battleship hunched over, looking distinctly green around the gills.

"I'm sorry."

Everyone blinked, shifting to stare at Junyo. [Excuse me?] Central Princess said.

"I'm sorry," Junyo repeated. "There's a reason I usually drink alone or with someone who knows how to limit my intake. I'm sorry about Alexandria-"

"Oh, _fuck_ the city," Warspite snapped, drawing surprised looks from everyone present. "The Abyssals do drive-bys _constantly_ , this is Tuesday."

"It was a Wednesday night," Pola pointed out.

"You, shut up. I'm still deciding what to do with you." Sighing, she turned back to Junyo. "You were saying."

"Look, I don't remember everything I did last night - nature of the beast, y'know - but I apologize for everything," the carrier continued. "Whatever the fuck it was. I don't remember, you know how it is. And I promise to help with undoing anything that needs undoing. In fact..."

Reaching into her - or rather, Pola's pocket - she retrieved a bottle from her hold and tossed it over to Warspite.

"Pure feed water," she stated. "Best hangover cure I know of. At least, best without knowing how to use shipgirl energy to purge the toxins."

"Talk about a frivolous use of soul energy," Warspite muttered, staring at the bottle for several seconds before shaking her head - and then squatted down, clutching her head. Once that was over with, she sent Junyo a wan smile. "Apology accepted, Junyo. Now, I believe you should start with-"

"SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP ME! SHE'S UNBUTTONING MY SHIRT! I DON'T WANNA BECOME VANGUARD'S SCIENCE EXPERIMENT! AGAIN!"

"That, yes."

"On it..." Junyo sighed. "Pola, we'll need to swap clothes after that..." In demonstration, she tugged at her skirt. That only succeeded in nearly pulling it off her hips. "I'm not staying in this skirt any longer than I have to."

"Yeah, yeah," the heavy cruiser replied as she tromped over to the hotel's small bar. "I'm gonna go find some hair of the dog..."

~o~

 _Hours_ later, the whole mess had been cleaned up, repairs were underway, memories restored, and Junyo was back in her regular clothes, sitting on a building overlooking the bay, waters painted with the setting sun. Poetic. Her mind wasn't really in the mood for poetic at the moment.

Footsteps crunched on the roof behind her, and Pola's legs came into view, before the heavy cruiser sat down next to her, visibly tipsy and with a half-drunk bottle of grappe in her hand.

"Drink for your thoughts?" she asked, grinning cheekily.

"No offense, Pola, but I never want to go drinking with you ever again."

"Eh, fair," Pola shrugged, taking a swig. "Just don't let that stop you from ever drinking. That'd be boring!"

"Ha!" Junyo barked. "No chance of that! I just don't want..." She vaguely indicated the Alexandria skyline. _"This_ happening again. I mean, we still don't know how the hell everyone _got_ here. I got started in Yokosuka, you and Aquila were in Toronto, Indefatigable was in _Portsmouth..._ "

Pola nodded, taking another drink. The two sat in silence for a while, just watching the sun set.

The artificial lights of the city had just taken over from the now-disappeared sun when a roaring dragon burst from somewhere in the city.

"Looks like Ning Hai woke up," Junyo remarked.

"Yup," was Pola's succinct remark.

"Tell her I rode her like a horse, and I will find a way to make you allergic to alcohol."

"Noted."


	204. Rule 2687

**Rule 2687: Battleships are not pillows no matter how fluffy they are.  
**  
HMS Vanguard the elder - and wasn't it weird having to tack that on - had a problem. Not a _big_ problem, and if it wasn't solved she could live with that, but it _was_ a problem.

She kept getting kidnapped. By her fellow shipgirls. To be used as a _pillow_.

The first had been Scharnhorst. The German battleship had popped into Portsmouth to bug some people, and upon seeing Vanguard had squealed, wrapped her up in a hug that had the side effect of smooshing Vanguard into her breasts, and then declared that she was taking Vanguard home to use as a pillow. And with Scharnhorst weighing twice as much as Vanguard with six and a half times the horsepower, there wasn't much she could do about it.

Luckily, Revenge had punched out the German before she'd even left the building.

Then Glasgow had showed up at O'Bannon's while Vanguard was there. The cruiser's bad mood had promptly evaporated and, with a squeal disturbingly similar to Scharnhorst's, had dived for Vanguard shouting "I'M TAKING YOU HOME WITH ME!"

Revenge had then promptly suplexed the mad Scot into the floor.

Then there was the submarine Tribune, who had crawled into her bed and snuggled up to her, head resting on Vanguard's breasts. The battleship had made an attempt to kick her out, but a mumbled statement that Vanguard "reminds me of me mum" stayed her hand. Unfortunately, that had led to a steady stream of submarines in her bed.

Revenge eventually sicced Upholder on them. They backed off.

Vanguard paused her recollections. Come to think of it, Revenge sure helped her out of a lot of these jams.

The submarines were followed by destroyers. Not constantly, thank God, and overall she allowed it with the destroyers. They were just kids that wanted some comforting. How could you say no to that?

Her current predicament did not involve destroyers. It involved a Lonely Queen of the North visiting Portsmouth, seeing her, and proclaiming that Vanguard was her new consort and that they would be returning to Tirpitz's Norwegian ice castle forthwith. Vanguard wasn't sure about the ice castle part, and was more peeved that she wasn't being _asked_ about this, having already heard of Tirpitz's status, but the most important part was that Revenge had come to rescue her again, and was getting her ass kicked. Vanguard winced as Tirpitz's boot met Revenge's chin - again.

"Why don't you just give up?" Tirpitz wondered. "You can't stop me. And I don't know why you're even trying."

 _'Yes, please, stop!'_ Vanguard desperately thought at Revenge. She wanted to _say_ it... but something stopped her. Something she couldn't... articulate. Something about the sight of Revenge going to the mats for her so many times.

As for Revenge, the battleship was clearly barely standing, her breath coming in heaving gasps and blood dripping from small wounds on her face. Despite that, she wasn't backing down anytime soon.

"Because..." the battleship said, before grimacing. "Because... Because, ah..." The grimace became a wordless snarl, and her final answer was shouted to the heavens. "BECAUSE SHE'S BEAUTIFUL, AND CUTE, AND I LOVE HER AND WANT TO HOLD HER, AND YOU PEOPLE KEEP _TAKING_ HER WITHOUT ASKING!"

Silence. Vanguard stared. Tirpitz stared. Revenge seemed to realize what she'd just said, turned red from the neck up, and then cradled her head in her hands, steam whistling out of her ears.

Finally, Tirpitz coughed lightly and carefully set Vanguard down. "Well, far be it from me to stand in the way of true love," she said. "I must go!" And with that, she hopped off the pier and jetted up the Channel.

"Well, that just happened," Vanguard muttered to herself, before walking over to Revenge and sitting down next to her. "So, did you mean that?" And boy were the implications hitting hard on that. The question was almost done on autopilot; her mind was awhirl with thought, the leading two being "Girls can't love girls! Not like _that!"_ and "How would that even work, anyway?"

"Every word," Revenge muttered.

"But... why?"

"Please don't make me repeat that," Revenge whimpered as she attempted to bury her head even deeper in her hands. "You know why. You heard me shout it to anyone in earshot."

That didn't answer her question. "But that's not what I meant!" she said. "Why a girl? Girls aren't supposed to love girls!"

"And why not?!" Revenge snapped, her gaze at once earnest and pissed off.

"B-Because...!" Vanguard began, only to pause as she properly thought through the answer. "Because... uh... I... don't know?" Revenge's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe there isn't an answer?"

"I'll take it," Revenge said, before sighing. "Look, I get it. You would not _believe_ the trouble the Yanks went through on this subject when they first summoned their shipgirls. But let's at least try this, see how it goes, and if it doesn't work, we'll still be friends, right?"

"Right!" Vanguard agreed. "Just lose that ridiculous accent for good, okay? You sound way better without it."

"But-" Revenge tried, only to have Vanguard suddenly loom over her.

"Lose. It."

"Okay," Revenge squeaked. Vanguard was suddenly all smiles again, and with that, the younger battleship collapsed to the ground. "Now could you get me to the docks, please?"

~o~

Ark Royal sipped at her tea, unfolding the Portsmouth Sun, an internally-circulated Navy newspaper that was really just a gossip rag. Albeit a well-researched and mostly accurate gossip rag. She promptly spat her tea out, thankfully not all over the newspaper, because there, right below the headline blaring "FORBIDDEN LOVE: VANGUARD AND REVENGE HOOK UP!" was a picture of the two battleships kissing at an outdoor cafe of some kind.

"Enterprise!" she shouted, rising.

"I saw!" the light cruiser called back. "I'm already sending an online copy to Yahagi!"


	205. Rule 2689

**Rule 2689. While effective, that little combo attack that Hoel, Heerman and Johnston pulled during their last sortie is to only be repeated IF the situation calls for it. As in "Out numbered 20-to-1" not "We're bored."  
**  
It was a familiar scene to the three destroyers of Taffy 3: a mixed force of battleships and heavy cruisers bearing down on them, and them stuck guarding a bunch of fat, slow ships unable to lend them much help. Except this time they were merchant ships instead of escort carriers, and the DEs providing close escort were... well, they weren't Samuel B. Roberts, and were thus busy understandably cowering near the merchantmen.

"Aw, not again," Heermann groaned. "I got lucky last time! I'm not surviving another one of these!"

"Then in that case we'll have to sell our lives dearly!" Johnston declared, earning a slap upside the head from Hoel. "Ow, what was that for?!"

"We are _not_ doing another suicide charge for glory," she replied. "I think it's time to use _that."  
_  
Heermann's and Johnston's eyes widened. "We pulled that off _once_!" the former protested. "I distinctly remember you saying that we needed at _least_ another week of practice before we could even _think_ of using it on sortie!"

The whistling roar of battleship guns hit the ears of the destroyer trio, followed shortly by several colossal shell splashes landing around them.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Hoel asked. Johnston opened her mouth- "Johnston, shut up, you don't get an opinion."

"I was just gonna say that this is an awesome plan," the destroyer defensively replied. "Let's do this!"

The destroyers quickly unstowed their torpedoes, placing all thirty on the water and lashing them together with duct tape. This was followed by every 5" shell the destroyers had; mostly AAC, but also a _lot_ of illumination rounds, all tied together with even more duct tape. And then on top of that came the propellant charges. That done, Hoel gave the torpedoes a hearty kick, starting up some of their motors and sending the whole unwieldy pile lumbering towards the opposing fleet.

The Abyssals, for their part, saw the whole pile coming - how could they not? - and only responded by trying not to bend over laughing. Obviously, such a contraption would never hit them, and in fact burn out its fuel long before ever reaching them. As such, it was ignored in favor of additional shellfire.

They did not count on the pile being propelled by only ten torpedoes, and the next ten starting up once the first ten burned out. They did not count on their destroyer screen being stupid enough to let it past without challenge.

And they certainly didn't count on the sheer quantity of boom heading towards them.

30 torpedoes. 525 AAC rounds per gun, five guns per ship, with three ships, and 7.25 lbs of explosives per shell, plus 100 illumination rounds per gun. And _then_ you add the propellant charges on top of that. Total explosives available: 116 tons. By the time the Abyssals noticed that the massive contraption had gotten within a thousand yards, the time-fuzed shells were ready to go of. And go off they did, the illumination rounds firing and then setting off everything else at once in a fit of MSSB.

Boom.

"Yes!" Hoel crowed as a mushroom cloud rose above the enemy fleet. "It worked! Suck on _that!"  
_  
"Pretty..."

"Yeah, but now we're kind useless against anything other than submarines," Heermann pointed out.

"So it's a last-resort sort of thing. Whatever. So awesome!" Johnston scoffed. "Now let's get home!"

~o~

Several days later, the trio faced a far graver enemy than an Abyssal fleet. Boredom. Luckily, Johnston had an idea to alleviate it!

You can panic now.

"Wanna go blow some things up?" she offered.

Heermann and Hoel, who had been listlessly staring at a book and a tablet, respectively, glanced up at her.

"Sure," they said in unison.

Panic. Now!

~o~

KA-BOOM!

Just about everyone in San Diego felt _that_ explosion. Admiral Holloway picked himself out from under his desk, brushing stray bits of glass off his shoulder, and jabbed his finger on the intercom. "Somebody find out what bonehead did that." Immediately after finishing that sentence, his phone started ringing, the number from just about every city department. _"Immediately."_


	206. Rule 2690

**Rule 2690. Light carriers are not melee weapons, and grabbing one and taking a swing at the enemy while yelling "Daedalus Attack!" is prohibited.  
**  
HMS Venerable eyed the oncoming Abyssal fleet with considerable distaste, and glanced back at the rest of the distant cover fleet she was a part of. Hood was surging forward as fast as her turbines could take her, which was incidentally _away_ from Venerable. Perfect.

On the other hand, in Hood's path was Glory, and her poor sister was a fairly recent summon. Chances were she didn't know about Hood's tendencies, which could only get worse with Campbelltown on leave at the moment.

Oh well. Better her than me, was the thought.

Glory, for her part, had no warning before an extremely strong hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked her up. "Hey, what gives?!" she snapped, before her eyes widened at the sight of her assailant. "Hood, what are you doing?!"

"You'll see," the battlecruiser cryptically replied as she continued to charge at the Abyssals.

"Okay, no, that's not fucking good enough!" Glory shouted back, nervously eyeing the Abyssals. "That's an Abyssal Fleet you're charging! What the fuck is the plan here?!"

"The plan is this!" Hood declared, hefting Venerable as the leading destroyers came into range. _"Daedalus Attack!"  
_  
"What the fuck is-!" THWACK! "whargarbl"

Hood placed Glory on her shoulder, her eyes following the Abyssal destroyer as it arced up and out of sight. "Good, this'll work," she said, adjusting her grip on the light carrier. "C'mon, then! Unless you don't think you're hard enough!"

The Abyssals paused, clearly remembering past encounters with Hood - and then the battlecruiser was suddenly body-checked from behind.

"What the-"

"You know what?" Venerable snarled. "I'm not okay with it being her rather than me!" And with that, she reached up, snagged Glory off of Hood's shoulder, and then turned tail at flank speed.

"Hey!" Hood snapped, only to hear the sounds of a dozen guns cocking, which did wonders for reminding her that she still had a hostile Abyssal fleet on her tail. Slowly, she turned around, and gulped audibly at the number of heavy guns and manic grins aimed in her direction.

"Bloody hell..."

~o~

Admiral Collingwood was not a happy camper. The mere fact that he had to conduct this meeting in the docks guaranteed that.

"So," he said. "I have what should have been a routine convoy run, except that it produced very familiar injuries in two of my capital ships that'll keep them out of action for a considerable time. Now, stop me if any of this seems wrong. To start with, we had one of those random big Abyssal fleets."

Venerable and Hood nodded; Glory, her neck in a brace, grunted assent.

"Hood, being Hood, grabbed a shipgirl to use as a spear. As Campbelltown was unavailable, she chose Glory."

Hood shook her head, before promptly wincing. Glory grunted again and Venerable nodded.

"After one hit, Venerable came in and took Glory away. This resulted in Hood getting ganged up on by the entire fleet."

Glory shrugged, Hood nodded and shot a glare Venerable's way, and after a moment Venerable nodded too.

Sighing, Admiral Collingwood ran a hand down his face. "Right. Here's what's going to happen. Hood, I'm docking your pay for a month, and I'm going to see what kind of medal I can get you for 'heroically holding off the enemy'. Venerable, you'll be confined to base for the same time. On an unrelated note, Resource has responded positively to your request for a bit of apprenticeship."

Hood sighed and soaked deeper into the water, while Venerable pumped her fist.

"Glory, just rest and heal up."

Another grunt, this time... happy-ish.


	207. Rule 2693

**Rule 2693. Purchasing Abyssal girl scout cookies is prohibited.  
**  
"Run that by me again?" the Director said in befuddlement.

[So, everyone wants to buy Girl Scout Cookies, right?] Supply Depot Princess explained. [I was thinking that if we got in on that ourselves, it would open up _so_ many opportunities. Not to mention get our cash reserves up a bit. Think about it: propaganda. Brainwashing agents. Trackers. The possibilities are endless!] The Installation popped one of said cookies in her mouth. [Plush, they're really, really tashty.]

"And... who's doing the selling?" the Director queried, still visibly gobsmacked.

[Specially-trained Wo-class. They're the best class at acting human, and it's amazing what people will be willing to overlook.]

Yeah, that all matched the first version of the plan her second had given her. "Who would be stupid enough to-" the Director demanded, before freezing with her mouth open.

[Yeah, I sent out a test force, and you'd be surprised how stupid people are.]

~o~

Junyo groaned as the morning light streamed into her room and right onto her eyelids, the usual morning hangover making itself very well known. Putting a pillow over her head didn't help, not enough. Groaning again, she purged herself of hangover symptoms, and sat up in bed, blearily blinking open her eyes. Hiyo had, quite thoughtfully, left a glass of water by her bed, and the carrier greedily drank it down. Now feeling human enough to stand, she stumbled over towards their shared bathroom, only to pause at the door due to a sound very close to marching feet.

Brows drawn together in confusion, Junyo opened the door to find that yes, that sound was the sound of marching feet. What looked like the entire Fubuki class was walking past her door, eyes dull and unfocused. A few seconds later, all twenty-four of them droned "Obey the masters."

For a long while, Junyo simply gaped at the sight as the mantra repeated several times, and only the Hatsuharu class taking the place of the Fubukis knocked her out of it.

"The fuck is going on?" she muttered. Junyo ducked back into her room long enough to actually put on some pants, and then stepped out, following the line of shipgirls to whatever the source of this was.

To her dismay, that line of shipgirls included more than just destroyers. Cruisers, carriers, _battleships..._ whatever this was, it had snared enough of Yokosuka that the exact percentage honestly didn't matter.

The end of the line led to the mess, where one of the tables was decorated with several boxes of cookies. They _looked_ like Girl Scout cookies, but Junyo was fairly certain that the Girl Scouts didn't operate in Japan, nor did they sell cookies called "Rage Against Machines".

Turning around, she jogged up to the line again with the intent of getting ahead of it to find out who these "masters" were. By the time she got there, though, and spotted the oddly-dressed Wos there, someone had already gotten there and was tearing them to shreds.

"Ouch," the carrier winced in sympathy as Enterprise grabbed one of the Wos and used its head to try and hammer a piling into the ground. At least, that's what it looked like.

~o~

The happy couple of Enterprise and Yamato were just finishing up breakfast when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," the carrier said, in what would have been a nice gesture had Yamato not been busy wrestling with Yoshino over her food. Literally.

In any case, whatever Enterprise was expecting when she opened the door, a Wo in a very good Girl Scouts' uniform and lugging a wagon stacked with cookie boxes behind her was not it. And the Wo clearly wasn't expecting an American at this address, from the bug-eyed expression on her face.

[Cookies?] she tried anyway.

"Really?" Enterprise deadpanned, before punching the Abyssal square in the face. As it dropped, Yamato wandered up, a towel wiping away the last of the baby food on her face.

"Oh, girl scout cookies!"

"They're not girl scout cookies," Enterprise deadpanned. That she picked up the Wo at the same time only punctuated the point.

Despite this, Yamato still gasped in surprise. "Really?!"

This time, the half-lidded stare wasn't enough, and Enterprise brought her hand to her face.

"Make sure you and Yoshino don't eat these," the carrier muttered. "I've gotta go save Yokosuka. Again."


	208. Rule 2696

**Rule 2696: No food fights in the Regia Marina's girls presence, they HATE when food is wasted.  
**  
A massive thump drew Pillsbury, Pope, and Flaherty away from their breakfast to the massive, overstuffed binder their fellow DE Chatelain had just dropped on the table.

"What is that?" Pope asked warily.

"I'm glad you asked!" Chatelain eagerly answered. "This-" And here she tapped the binder. "Is a list of all the activities we can try on our break! Go ahead and start picking!"

"Uh-huh..." Pope said, sidelong eyeing the massive binder.

"C'mon, guys, let's at least give this a chance," Pillsbury said. Reaching over, she grasped the binder and tried to tug it over. "We gotta start our- mmph! - break off right!"

"Can't we start it off left?" Flaherty interjected as Pillsbury failed to budge the binder, a wide grin on her face. That grin was promptly obscured by a tomato soaring in and bouncing off her skull.

"Boo!"

As one, all four DEs turned towards a neighboring table, where Tripoli, Fessenden, O'Toole, and Edgar G. Chase sat, the escort carrier glaring at Flaherty with her arm wound forward. The source of the tomato was obvious. And so, team Guadalcanal, as they were known, reached for their condiments, something glinting in their eyes.

"Oh, it's _on,_ " Chatelain declared.

~o~

"I just want to say thank you for giving us this chance to hone our skills."

The speaker of this thanks was a newcomer to Norfolk: Maestrale, an Italian destroyer. Besides her skipped Libbeccio, who was humming a somewhat... unsettling tune.

"Submarines~, submarines~, gonna kill more submarines~..."

Not that it bothered either Guadalcanal or Jenks. Killing more submarines was never a bad thing. "No problem, no problem," Guadalcanal replied as the quartet approached the mess. "But first, a hearty breakfast is always a must before training!"

"Just be aware, we like really big breakfasts here," Jenks whispered to the Italian tin cans, getting a pair of nods. Guadalcanal, meanwhile, threw open the doors to the mess with probably more fanfare than was necessary.

At which point a glob of scrambled eggs nailed her in the center of her face.

With Guadalcanal frozen, Jenks poked her head around her to find the mess in utter pandemonium. DEs and 4-pipers had bunched up and were launching salvos of scrambled eggs, condiments, and hash browns at each other. The Gearings had erected omelette shields to try and withstand the bombardment of the escort carriers. And in the center of the whole fight, team Guadalcanal and team Tripoli were engaging in melee combat with a variety of different foods.

"Aw, great, not another food fight," Jenks groaned. Barely had she uttered those words when a wave of pure _malice_ washed over her back, and she slowly turned around to see Libeccio and Maestrale doing a good impression of Roma on a bad day; that is, raised hair, black aura, and seething expression.

 _"Food fight?"_ both destroyers intoned.

"Uh, yeah," Jenks replied. "See for yourself."

The two destroyers did so, peeking around Guadalcanal, at which point they, too, got facefuls of scrambled egg. That was clearly some sort of last straw, as the auras intensified and they leapt into the fray, armed only with their bare hands.

That did absolutely nothing to help the Americans.

"Ouch," Jenks winced, glancing up at Guadalcanal, who was still frozen with egg dripping off her face. "Great. Now where am I going to find ice cream at this hour?"


	209. Rule 2698

**Rule 2698. Nagato. You cannot take the Iceberg Princess home. This is the third time Hoppo had to talk her into letting you go.**

Hoppo-chan sighed as the raw speed of the ballistic missile she was riding in shook the frame. She _hated_ having to fly via ballistic missile, and that this was the third time she'd had to do it in three weeks _annoyed_ her. And an annoyed Hoppo was a dangerous Hoppo, as Heermann and Johnston had found out the hard way when they'd decided she'd make a good pranking target. Idly, the little Abyssal wondered if they'd ever gotten the scent of pine sap out of their bedclothes, or if they'd just had to straight up replace them.

Another, less random and more familiar shudder drew Hoppo-chan out of her musings, and she put her full attention back on reality just in time for the head of the missile to come apart, releasing her on a basic ballistic trajectory to the surface. And once again, Hoppo sent a silent thank you to JAXA, for they'd put her right on target. Anti-aircraft fire rose up to meet her, but what little that did hit only tickled. Installation, y'know?

As such, for the third time in as many weeks, Hoppo-chan slammed into the Iceberg Princess' iceberg at a speed north of mach five, threatening to tip over the hunk of ice and shattering it for several hundred feet. Hoppo-chan herself was unhurt, and climbed out of the hole to be confront by the Iceberg Princess, Nagato sprawled under her feet.

[Oh, come on!] the Abyssal shouted. _[Again?!_ Don't you ever get tired of this?!]

[Of course I do!] Hoppo shot back. [But that's my Nagato-mama you're stepping on, so I'm just gonna keep coming back until she stop coming here!]

[Well, tough, then!] Iceberg Princess replied, making sure to grind her boot into Nagato's face a little more. [Because I'm not letting her go, and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise!]

Hoppo quirked an eyebrow. [Nothing?]

[Nothing! Do your worst!]

Hoppo grinned, like a shark that's spotted a bare behind. [Oh, I was hoping you'd say something like that,] she said, advancing on Iceberg Princess, her knuckles popping like gunshots as she cracked them. [See, I need to relieve some stress. And look! You just volunteered to help!]

It was at this moment that Iceberg Princess knew she'd fucked up. [W-Wait!] she desperately shouted, stepping off of Nagato's head. [I-I'll give her back. And t-then you can go in peace! That's how this works, right?]

[Too late, bitch!]

Iceberg Princess whimpered. And then she began to scream.

~o~

It was pain that awoke Nagato, a throbbing headache that reminded her of the few times she'd overindulged in alcohol. At least when she opened her eyes the light didn't burn them. Seeing Hoppo-chan leaning over her with a concerned look on her face helped, too.

But why did her back feel col- oh.

"I did it again, didn't I?" she sighed as she sat up. Yup. Iceberg.

[You did,] Hoppo said in a scolding tone. [You gotta stop doing this, Nagato-mama!]

"I know, Hoppo-chan," the battleship sighed. "I promise you, when we get home I'll look at cute cat pictures until I'm sick of them. That should hold me for a while."

[Yeah, that should work.] Suddenly grinning, Hoppo... well, hopped onto Nagato's shoulders and pointed west. [Let's go!]

[Yes, ma'am!] Nagato barked, before firing up her Super Nagamon form and taking off.

Shortly after she took off, a random chunk of ice shifted and then fell away, allowing the Iceberg Princess to drag herself forward on her one working limb. And a quick look at the Abyssal made it plain that those weren't the only injuries she was working with. Blood dripped freely from multiple head wounds and her breathing was the shallow kind that indicated lots of broken ribs.

[Damn... brat...] she wheezed. [Gonna take _weeks_ to recover... fuck that hurts...]


	210. Rule 2701

**Rule 2701. The incident at Everett dubbed "The dawn of a thousand lawnmowers" shall not be repeated ANYWHERE. We actually thought Des Moines and Worchester got an excavator or used their own hands to dig until we saw the security footage.**

Legion Memorial Golf Course was a public golf course, run by the City of Everett, and as such the head groundskeeper, a man known only as Ron, had been doing his job for a very long time. Though no one remembered anymore, he had been at the job for over twenty years, since the course had been remodeled in 1998.

And in those two decades, he had _never_ seen anything like this.

Hell, even the representative from Farmer's Insurance was stumped. They were _never_ stumped.

Because smack dab in the middle of the course was a massive hole in the ground ringed with piles of dirt and liberally decorated with lawnmower parts. _Lots_ of lawnmower parts. Enough parts that they weren't sure how deep the hole was because the parts were half-filling it.

"How..." the insurance rep breathed.

"I don't know," Ron admitted.

"Did someone drive an excavator-"

"No, that'd leave tracks. And it doesn't explain the lawnmower parts."

The insurance rep flailed her arms about, obviously trying to find an explanation that made sense. "Maybe by hand...?"

"Still doesn't explain the lawnmower parts," Ron explained. "Also, to do this overnight, they'd need enough people that they'd leave trails of some kind."

The two fell silent.

"Well, then, I have nothing," the insurance rep finally admitted. "Do you have security footage?"

Ron grimaced. "We have cameras, but..."

"Old systems, who knows what they picked up?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll take a look anyway. Can't hurt..."

The two quickly adjourned to the security office, and after some finagling with the old technology managed to find the recordings from the previous night, and in a stroke of luck they even worked! Grainy as hell, but they worked.

Unfortunately, while the tape did provide some answers, it also raised further questions.

As their culprits dashed off of the camera feeds, both Ron and the insurance rep could only sit back and boggle.

"How did they..." the Farmers rep mumbled. "With _lawnmowers...?"  
_  
"I believe the official term is Magical Sparkly Shipgirl Bullshit." Though Ron had been as boggled as the insurance rep, the shock was rapidly giving way to outright anger. These were his grounds, dammit. It wasn't for them to defile with... with... whatever the fuck it was they did! "I'm guessing we need to talk to someone in Bremerton?"

That broke the Farmers rep out of her daze. "Oh, yes. Just, uh, let me confer with my supervisors. I'm not as up-to-date on our shipgirl policies as I'd like."

Ron nodded. "I'll call the Navy."

~o~

 _"Now hear this: Des Moines and Worcester, please report to the Admiral's office."  
_  
Though everyone was understandably curious at the announcement, the table at which the two cruisers and their sisters sat had a very _interesting_ reaction. Worcester and Des Moines outright froze, while Salem and Roanoke brought their heads to their hands, and Newport News just sighed.

"What did you two do this time?" she asked.

"I think you'll find out," Worcester squeaked.

"Yeah, let's go face the music," Des Moines groaned as she stood.

The other three cruisers all shared looks, and then grinned as their eldest sisters left. Oh, this was going to be a _juicy_ one.

Not that this was an comfort to Des Moines and Worcester when they slunk into the Admiral's office. And any hope they may have had died a swift, painful death when Admiral Richardson, instead of saying anything, merely turned his laptop around to show an email when the two walked in. There, in the body, was a picture of their little lawnmower experiment - one that had gone horribly wrong.

"I see you recognize this," Admiral Richardson stated - which was as far as he got before the two cruisers suddenly got on their knees and started genuflecting.

"We're sorry, we're sorry!" they chorused. "We'll do whatever it takes to fix this!"

"Whatever it takes?"

At the unfamiliar voice behind them, the two cruisers suddenly scrambled to their feet, seeing a man who they'd missed walking in. A man in a hat that proudly displayed the name of the golf course they'd dug up. A man holding two shovels.

"Here," Ron said, grinning, as he shoved the shovels at them. "Let's go. That hole won't fill itself."

"Oh, and consider any costs incurred to be out of your pay," Admiral Richardson added.

Sobbing, Des Moines and Worcester could do little but nod and follow along.


	211. Rule 2702

**Rule 2702. Regarding lawnmowers; Olympic shall no longer carry his prop on his chest while going towards subs, be they Abyssal or not. We've all seen 'Dead Alive' and it is a** ** _spectacular_** **mess to clean up.**

THWACK!

Another Abyssal submarine fell to Olympic's axe, but the liner was _not_ happy about it. Mostly because it was the third time he'd had to do this in as many hours. Planting his boot on the submarine's head, he yanked the axe out with a sickening squelch, and eyed the instrument. It had served him well, of course, but he was beginning to think it was inefficient. And hard on his back. Ow.

But there really wasn't any other way to do things. His props were now feet, and kicking Abyssals, even thin-skinned submarines, just resulted in pained toes. And the Admiralty had refused his request to get some 6" guns bolted onto his rigging. Skinflints. Still, there had to be some way to more efficiently take on submarines...

Hmm. Time for a detour to Scapa Flow to talk to Vanguard.

~o~

Titanic stared up at the Portsmouth submarine dorm with considerable trepidation. It wasn't that submarines were a sore temptation for the eyes, one and all - they were, and even as a gentleman it was extraordinarily difficult to not stare - and more that they had _no_ sense of boundaries around him. It made him uncomfortable, it annoyed Langley, and usually ended with a trail of unconscious submarines as his wife lost her temper.

Still, they had called him here for some reason, and with a deep breath, he reached up and knocked on the door.

It was immediately thrown open to reveal a scowling Undine. Said scowl deepened instantly when she saw Titanic there.

"Follow me," she tersely ordered, and then turned and marched back into the building before Titanic could even reply. Sighing again, the liner followed her.

Whatever the destination he expected, Upholder curled up in a blanket burrito and surrounded by every single U-class submarine in the Royal Navy was not it. And what the submarine was saying...

"C-Chest... Olympic... blood... so much blood... blood... blood...!"

It wasn't just the words, though. It was the tone, one of mad terror, of thing seen that could never be unseen.

And then Undine grabbed Titanic by the lapels and pulled him in close.

"Fix. This," she snarled. "Or better yet, find Olympic so we can _do_ something about him!"

This time, Titanic didn't passively sigh and move on. Instead, he reached up, and very pointedly pried Undine's hands off of him, to the visible shock of the submarine.

"There is only one woman in my life who can order me around like that," he informed her. "And she's not you. Now, I'm going to talk to Olympic, and get to the bottom of this. Not because you demanded it, but because Olympic is likely in trouble or going to be in trouble and I'd rather find out myself rather than by the admiral or MPs telling me. Or, God forbid, via Facebook. Good day."

And with that, he dropped her on her butt, adjusted his clothing, and turned to leave. Undine, for her part, just sat there, staring, and then once he was gone a blush crept across her face.

"Ooohhhh, why does he have to be taken?" she whined, stamping her foot on the floor.

~o~

Titanic quickly made his way to Olympic's room, finding the door closed and locked. Knocking was polite habit and a means to avoid seeing... things. Things he did not want to see himself.

"Come in!" he heard Olympic call, and had just started opening the door when his brother continued. "Oh, thank god you're here, Britannic. Tell me you know how to get-"

The two paused, staring at each other. Olympic was bare-chested, holding a shirt that was positively _soaked_ in Abyssal ichor. More of the stuff was splattered in random places around the room, and was particularly thick on what looked for all the world like one of their propellers attached to a chest harness.

Finally, Olympic said, "Let's face it, this is _not_ the worst thing you've caught me doing."

"Oh, how I wish it was..." Titanic groaned. "What the bloody hell is going on here, Olympic? What's that harness over there? And where did all this Abyssal ichor come from?" He blinked, the pieces all falling together, and he let his head fall into his hands. "Bloody hell, Olympic, please tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Olympic immediately denied.

"Really." One eyebrow rose. "So you _didn't_ strap that propellor to your chest, and start chasing Abyssal submarines around shouting something about hugging them? And _actually_ hug several?"

The expression on Olympic's face was _priceless.  
_  
"Right." Titanic clapped his hand on Olympic's shoulder. "Good luck explaining this to Admiral Graham when he asks you about the traumatized submarine he currently has on his hands."

And with that, he left.


	212. Rule 2705

**Rule 2705. Do not mention any revelations in regards to the recent Captain America comic to the American ship girls.** ** _Enterprise is already broken._**

No one was quite sure when Akigumo had picked up reading American comics. But she had, and she read them almost as much as she read manga these days. Questions on why had been met with vague answers about "getting at the roots", which simply left the askers confused. They quickly stopped asking.

Mostly, this is to explain how a shout of "HAIL HYDRA?! WHAT?!" could echo through the Yokosuka mess.

All eyes turned to Akigumo, who amazingly _didn't stop.  
_  
"WHAT?! BUH... HAIL HYDRA?! WHAT?! HAIL HYDRA?! WHAT?! I DON'T CARE WHAT DRUG-INDUCED LAND YOU'RE IN, YOU DO NOT HAVE _CAPTAIN FUCKING AMERICA_ SAY 'HAIL HYDRA'! IN _ANY_ CONTEXT!"

And then suddenly, everything _stopped_. _Everything._ Because Enterprise was in the room, and everyone knew how seriously the Americans took Captain America. Heads turned her way, and cringed at the poleaxed expression on her face.

"I MEAN, WHAT NEXT?!" Akigumo continued to shout. "THIS... 'HYDRA CAP' IS GOING TO LEAD A FASCIST TAKEOVER OF THE ENTIRE PLANET?!" A comic book came hurling away from Akigumo's table, where it hit the wall with considerable force. Enterprise slowly, robotically, began to walk over to it, and had just bent down to pick it up when Akigumo started up again.

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!" came the screech. Enterprise froze again, comic book held between two fingers. Nothing more came, though, the destroyer just repeatedly throwing up her hands before shouting out "DUMB! THIS IS DUMB!"

But Akigumo was not the focus anymore. All eyes were on Enterprise as she flipped through the comic book, finally coming to rest on a page near the end of the issue. Then nothing happened. The tension was unbearable. Beads of nervous sweat ran down everyone's faces, and eleven destroyers outright fainted.

And when Enterprise finally began to move, there was no explosion. No cracking of the ground. No sign that Enterprise was angry besides clenched fists crumpling the paper in her hand and a livid expression on her face. The tension ratcheted up even higher when Enterprise stalked over to Akigumo and tapped her on the shoulder.

"What?" the destroyer snapped.

"Can I have the comic with the takeover?" Enterprise very calmly asked.

Grumbling under her breath, Akigumo tossed it up, the carrier catching it. "Yeah, take it, get that piece of shit out of my sight," she groused. "For fuck's sake, what was Nick Spencer fucking _thinking...?"  
_  
As Akigumo descended into incoherent grumbling again, Enterprise eyed the comic in her hands: a thick trade paperback featuring Captain America, costume torn to reveal a Hydra symbol beneath, the words _Secret Empire_ slapped over the front. And with that, she left, eyes glued to the comic, and everyone heaved a colossal sigh of relief and slumped in their chairs.

"Oh, God, I thought she was never gonna leave!" Hiei breathed.

"Haruna is not daijobu..."

"Whoever this Nick Spencer person is, I wouldn't want to be him right now," Kirishima added.

~o~

Halfway around the world, Wisconsin was just enjoying a fresh cup of joe on the docks when Enterprise came in for a crashing landing, her expression well past thunderous. And visible in her hands was a copy of the Secret Empire trade paperback. Sighing, Wisconsin finished off her coffee, and braced herself.

"You know that's a couple of years old, right?"

As expected, Enterprise was suddenly up in her grill. The battleship didn't even blink.

"You _knew_ about this?" Enterprise snarled. "And you didn't _tell anyone?"  
_  
"It's been over the comic-book sectors of the internet the whole time," Wisconsin calmly responded. "Suffice to say, sane comic book fans have dissected it and found it _seriously_ wanting. I'm honestly surprised nobody here's stumbled on the event before."

"Right, well, now I know," Enterprise growled. "And I'm not going to let this one stand!" So said, she stormed off, presumably to go recruit a mob.

"Don't kill anyone!" Wisconsin called after her.

~o~

Nick Spencer woke up feeling good that morning. He got up, put on a shirt, and walked to his window to throw open his curtains and expose what was sure to be a beautiful day!

And it was. It was also full angry, shouting shipgirls waving picket signs burning an effigy of himself right on his lawn. He blinked. Then he scrambled back to his bed, grabbing his phone in the process, and pulled the covers over his head.

His first call was made to the police. They assured him that they were monitoring the situation, but also recommended he stay at home. No argument there, for his next call was to his bosses at Marvel.

"So, yeah, I don't think I'll be able to come into work today..."


	213. Rule 2708

**Rule 2708. Using a shark-shaped sleeping bag to scare Indianapolis is forbidden.**

"Camping," Indianapolis groused as she tried and failed to finagle a tent into its proper shape. "Why _camping?"  
_  
"Because it builds character," her sister Portland replied as she set up her own tent. "And because the Admiral asked me to get you away from the sea and all the sharks you keep killing."

"Okay, but why is _she-"_ And her Indianapolis waved her hands over at Tuscaloosa, Portland's girlfriend, who was busily getting the fire started. "Here?"

"Because she's my girlfriend," Portland stated evenly. "And because we thought it would be best to have two experienced campers instead of one." Not that they really expected much trouble out here in Western Virginia, but best to be safe.

Grumbling under her breath, Indianapolis turned back to her tent - which, with one errant tug, collapsed into a sad heap and prompted Indianapolis to throw up her hands and stalk off into the woods.

"Bring some firewood back while you're out there!" Tuscaloosa called after the cruiser, before turning to Portland. "Y'sure this is a good idea? She seems mighty upset about something."

Portland fought the urge to sigh as she went to work on her sister's tent, quickly getting it set up. And that was the real reason for this trip: Indianapolis' bloodthirsty reaction to sharks was well known, and seemed to be spreading into a generally sour and belligerent mood that had much of San Diego walking on eggshells. A camping trip could provide a bit of relaxation that she clearly desperately needed.

Or, as it increasingly seemed, it would just stress her out further.

"By the way, have you picked out a good spot of Virginia Creeper?" Tuscaloosa continued.

That prompted Portland to whirl on Tuscaloosa. "One time!" she protested.

"One instance of poison ivy in places it shouldn't be is one time too many," Tuscaloosa countered, mock-glaring at her girlfriend. "Now, did you pick out a patch or not?"

"Yes, I picked out a patch!" Portland snapped. "This wouldn't be a problem if you weren't into light bondage..."

"But I am, and you love it."

A blush. "Yeah, I do." With one last tug, Portland finally got Indianapolis' tent up and standing. "Whew, there we go. What do you have for food?"

"Oh, most of the usual. Pasta, canned beans, some sausage..."

"Then I'm going foraging," Portland declared, standing and brushing dirt off her pants. "I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?"

"Be safe!"

~o~

True to her word, an hour later found Portland walking back to the camp, her jacket being used as a makeshift bag for a nice haul of chicken mushrooms, wild ramp, and blackberries. However, a wild scream from the camp nearly prompted her to drop the food, particularly since it was of her little sister, and she sprinted into the camp when she got her grip right.

But the camp was undisturbed. There were no wild predators; no machete-wielding, hockey-masked madmen out for their blood. Just the campsite, Indianapolis nowhere to be seen, and Tuscaloosa's rump sticking out of the former's tent. Grinning, Portland walked over and poked the protruding rump.

"Ack!"

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Tuscaloosa withdrew, holding a sleeping bag and glaring at her girlfriend. "Don't _do_ that," she admonished. "And what happened is Indianapolis saw _this."  
_  
With that, she held up the sleeping bag, which most certainly _not_ the sleeping bag Portland had picked out. After all, she knew better than to use one liberally decorated with sharks.

"Right..." Portland sighed. "Where is she...?"

An amused snort tore its way out of Tuscaloosa's nose, and twisted her face, and the cruiser pointed to the nearest solid tree, high up. There was Indianapolis, clinging to the tree, and screeching at a poor bird that tried to land.

"Okay, that is pretty funny," Portland admitted. "I'll see if I can get her down, why don't you start cooking dinner?"

"Yes, mastah," Tuscaloosa drawled, earning a cuff upside the head.


	214. Rule 2709

**Rule 2709. The "Depth Charge Autocannon" is to be put under lock and key until further notice.  
**  
It was a slow day for the Yuubaris when they heard a knock at the door, one that sounded different from the usual suspects. With all their projects complete, on hold for technical reasons, or still working their way through the feasibility stages, there was no reason for one of them to _not_ get up and get the door. And the person there, as it turned out, was Take, with a grumpy look on her face, scorch marks dotting her skin and clothes, and a strong smell of brine covering her.

"I need new ASW weapons," the destroyer declared. "I need to kill submarines fast and depth charges are too slow."

Yuubari nodded. "No Hedgehogs?"

"Too small, they said," Take spat. "And Mousetrap is a piece of shit I don't want to work with. But I still need a better way to kill submarines than fucking _depth charges."  
_  
Another nod, and then Yuubari turned her head over her shoulder and called back to her twin. "D'you think we could cram ASROC onto a Matsu?"

"Nah, they're too small!" came the reply. "The Restigouche and Garcia classes are twice their size, and they're the smallest ships to carry them that I can remember!"

"Darn," Yuubari muttered. "Okay, give us a few days so we can do some design and prototype stuff, but we'll have something for you."

"Eh, take your time," Take airily replied. "I'm off duty for about a week anyway. The joys of convoy runs..."

"Excellent."

~o~

A few days later found Take at the lab again, her hand raised to knock - and then she lowered it again. Such hesitancy was not like her, but when there had been three explosions from inside in the last three minutes, well... you wanted to be careful.

"This is stupid," Take muttered, before raising her hand again and knocking for real. Some muffled cursing sounded out, and then thumping footsteps, before Yuubari opened the door. Her jumpsuit was scorched, as was a lock of hair, and she smelled faintly of gasoline.

"Oh, hey," she panted. "You here to check up on things?" Take nodded. "Alright, follow me."

Destroyer followed cruiser deeper into the lab but _away_ from the ongoing sounds of engineering work. Take didn't question it, for that way laid gibbering madness. Instead, she was led to a wall lined with all sorts of odd weapons that Take could only _begin_ to guess at the function of.

"Alright, we tried a lot of things, but only three were really feasible," Yuubari explained, before reaching up and pulling down one of the weapons. "First of all, our Tesla Shocker."

Said weapon was a long stiff with a globe on one end, several rings running below said globe.

"As you might have guessed from the name, this baby is meant to be dipped in the water, at which point the salt water will conduct the current through a large area, one hopefully large enough to at least disable the sub. Though, ah, the whole task force will need special rubber soles so they don't get shocked either. It's a work in progress."

That weapon went up, and then a new weapon came down. This one was more ramshackle. In fact, it was very obviously a loudspeaker attached to a stick, the wire winding around the stick.

"This is a Sonic Disruptor. Place it in the water, and then shout as loud as you can into it. The submarines will be floating up to you!" The mad scientist grimaced. "As well as a lot of fish and whales and stuff. Hope you like environmental nutjobs yelling at you."

That weapon, too, went back to the wall, and the last resembled an M2 Browning. Well, an M2 Browning a la Looney Tunes, except real.

"And this is just a basic depth charge autocannon. Mind the recoil." That was placed back up, and Yuubari turned back to Take, an expectant look on her face. "So! Which one do you want? And if you want to wait for something even better, well, that's fine, too."

It was an easy decision. After all, only one weapon didn't come with massively obvious drawbacks.

~o~

"Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!" Take cackled as her depth charge autocannon spewed its payload all over the place. "All of you are _dead!_ We will crush you! And then make Junyo clean up the mess."

Nobody else was so sanguine about the weapon, including Junyo. The depth charges were going _everywhere,_ after all.

"Hey, watch it!" the carrier screeched as one of those depth charges sailed overhead.

"This is ridiculous!" Yayoi wailed as the same thing happened to her.

It was to the point that when a Ne-class heavy cruiser announced its presence with a roar and lots of shellfire, everyone breathed sighs of relief. Because Take immediately stowed the autocannon, raised her guns and torpedoes, and charged headlong at the Abyssal.

"Alright, get the convoy moving while Take takes that bitch down!" Junyo barked. "And someone call ahead to get that gun confiscated!"


	215. Rule 2710

**Rule 2710. We should not be putting this on the rule list, but we have to: You may not bring explosives of any kind to the latrines.  
**  
The gummy bears were innocuous enough. And despite hearing about the effects of the Haribo sugar-free gummy bears straight from the mouths of American and German shipgirls, most of the Italian shipgirls didn't quite believe them. It couldn't be _that_ bad, right? As such, they were not nearly wary enough to avoid eating the bears.

The results were predictable.

Attilio Regolo sprinted through Taranto as fast as her legs could take her, searching desperately for a bathroom that wasn't occupied. Not only were all the stalls she'd found occupied, but in addition to the usual symphony of intestinal agony, there were yelps of surprise and small explosions sounding out. And so she made a beeline for a restroom she knew was in one of the closer warehouses.

By the time she got there, even with her speed, everything was threatening to simply explode out, not helped by her actual running. And so it was to her dismay that she found the toilet seat up.

"Oh, come on!" she yelped, slamming it down with considerable force. That produced a loud bang, some heat, and a small cloud of purple smoke, and in her startlement, well... certain muscles relaxed. Muscles that had been clenched as hard as they could before.

It was miserable. Actually, miserable wasn't a strong enough word. Regolo started to cry.

~o~

"I want whoever did this prank found!" Roma raged as she paced back and forth in her office. "I want them found, and then they're cleaning this entire mess up themselves! With a _toothbrush!"  
_  
Unbeknownst to the MPs there, as well as Roma, one of said MPs was sweating profusely as he sat there. Yes, it'd been a great prank. The nitrogen triiodide on the toilet seats was a stroke of genius. Now he could only pray that nobody figured out he'd done it.

~o~

California curled her lips as she entered the latrines set up next to Bremerton's firing range. Designed as temporary latrines, as was often the case with government anything what was temporary had inevitably become permanent, and yet they still betrayed their origins as temporary with their flimsy plastic construction, utter lack of running water, and open septic tank.

Eurgh.

And, as California took care of her business, she fumbled her phone and dropped it right into the muck with a desultory plop.

"Oh, for..." she groaned, leaning over and pinching her nose with one hand. The phone, sadly, was not visible. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a lighter, and held it up over the seat. Now her phone was visible, as was a small pile of dynamite.

"Oh, huh, some dynamite," she remarked, before her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, shit, that's dynamite!"

In her panic and attempt to get out faster, California dropped the lighter. As she skidded on the dirt outside, the flame drifted down... and down... and down... and then-

BOOM!

Something wet squelched against California's back, and then was followed by a wet, disgusting rain. Only when it stopped did she glance back at where the latrine used to be, and where there was now a hole in the ground. Oh, and tons of shit littering the ground.

"Forget a bath..." California muttered. "I'm taking a dip in the ocean first."


	216. Rule 2714

**Rule 2714. Reminder: Eating beans before sortie and putting a lighter in your pocket does not constitute equipping a flamethrower. Don't even try.**

Lamson, her breakfast already eaten, stared at Reid, who was eating beans by the truckload for her breakfast. As she'd done for every meal for the past week. And the destroyer was intensely curious as to why. Eating just beans for a week was... really, who did that _without_ a solid reason? Especially _Navy_ beans, which were even more tasteless than civilian bean dishes?

"So, what's with all the beans?" Lamson finally asked.

"You'll see!" was Reid's reply, before she went back to devouring more beans.

Sensing that this was probably all she was going to get at this time, Lamson sighed and leaned back, waiting. Reid finished up her beans, and the two destroyers were thus able to make their way to the briefing room where they were to learn about their next mission.

Said mission got grins out of both of them: they were to be part of the screen for the Des Moines sisters as they sought out a group of Abyssal cruisers that had been making a nuisance of themselves. That they'd only found out about this group when an Alaskan fisherman had managed to evade them only increased the urgency. Who knows _what_ they were doing out there?

The briefing was straightforward, and soon they were on the water, the cruisers sending aloft scouting seaplanes and coordinating the Poseidon jets overhead. That left the destroyers to assume their usual picket spot, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

 _Hours_ later, the fleet suddenly changed course, kicking it up to full speed and orders coming down the line to assume a line ahead formation for imminent surface combat. The instant those orders came down, Reid grinned and made to surge to the front, pulling out a lighter.

In a flash, Lamson realized what her sister was planning to do, but stopping her was unnecessary, because shortly after pulling out that lighter Reid collapsed to the water, clutching her gut.

"Ooooohhhhh, my stomach..." she groaned.

"That's what you get for eating so many beans," Lamson smugly stated. "Now stay here while we go clobber those Abyssals."

Leaving behind her fellow destroyer, Lamson surged forward and slotted in at the rear of the line, firing her guns at the Abyssals and waiting for any orders to break formation. None came; the Abyssals were too busy dying under the guns of the American cruisers. They were just mopping up when Lamson charged back in front of the line, forcing a quick cease-fire.

Reid's palm, meet Reid's forehead. And from the sound of it, she wasn't the only one.

"Never fear, everyone, I got this!" Reid declared.

"Damn tin can, get out of the way!" one of the cruisers, probably Newport News, snapped.

"Geez, calm down, this'll only take a minute." So saying, Reid pulled out the lighter again, bent over with her butt towards the Abyssals - and then collapsed again, clutching her stomach and groaning in pain and her butt prominently stuck in the air.

The cruisers immediately resumed fire, and by the time Reid was back on her feet again, the fight was over.

"Aww, I didn't get to try..." she whined, only for a hand to come down on her head. "Yow!"

"Dumbass..." Lamson muttered.


	217. Rule 2715

**Rule 2715. For on base personnel with kids taking the higher levels of math, stop trying to ask various ship girls to mentor your kids.**

Captain Duke Hopkins, one of the many non-flag officers doing non-flag officer things in San Diego, had a problem. Or rather, his son David, who preferred to go by Dave these days, had a problem. Young Dave was an extremely bright lad, at least in one specific area: mathematics. He'd breezed through arithmetic, demolished algebra, and eaten geometry for breakfast and asked for a late-morning snack. At age 14 and just starting high school, young Dave was taking AP-level calculus.

And he _hated_ it. Mostly because the poor boy had completely hit a brick wall. His parents had been no help, as both had only taken calculus _years_ prior and were extremely fuzzy on how to do it. And the school had been... singularly unhelpful.

Let's just say Captain Hopkins had been very tempted to ask a destroyer to prank the hell out of the staff. Or just tear down the school brick by brick. That's how bad it'd been.

So now he was wracking his brains trying to figure out how to get his son past the calculus block. And it was a block; Dave had a hit a similar wall in other subjects, and at some point, after much coaxing and instruction, he usually broke through and started cruising. The possibility of outside tutors was considered and rejected; too expensive. And online tutors were too impersonal for the captain's taste, though they were filed as a last-resort option.

This brooding was currently going on in his office, and by happy coincidence a pair of destroyers walked past his open door, chattering about ballistics.

"Okay, so the barrel wear will do _this_ to the continuous velocity," said a destroyer the captain recognized as Shannon said. "And then..."

"Yeah, this is integral work," the other destroyer, Hugh Purvis agreed. "So, you'll need to do _this..."  
_  
Eyes wide, Captain Hopkins practically threw himself out of his desk and ran after them. "Wait!"

~o~

"So, let me get this straight," Hugh Purvis said. "You, Captain, want us to tutor your kid in calculus."

Captain Hopkins nodded.

"What's in it for us?" Shannon asked suspiciously.

A grin spread on Captain Hopkins' face, and he answered their question with a question. "What are your favorite flavors of ice cream?"

The two destroyers shared a glance, and then smiled brightly.

"How hard do you want us to be on him?" the asked in eerie unison.

~o~

A couple months later found Captain Hopkins at an officers' luncheon, happy as a clam and sharing that fact with everyone who'd listen.

"It took only a week to get Dave past that block in his head," he explained to his audience. "I'll admit, I was surprised. Not at the knowledge, they made _that_ part clear when they walked by my door, but at how well they _taught_. Once they got to know him, they were very good at tailoring their tutoring so he would understand." He smirked. "I think he might have a crush on Shannon, too. And best of all, they can be paid in ice cream. And home-cooked meals."

Quite a bit of excited muttering broke out among the gathered officers, and Captain Hopkins sat back, smiling at his good deed. His head bumped against something, and he craned his head back to find Admiral Holloway smiling back down at him.

"Excellent thinking, _Captain,"_ the Admiral stated, a little more emphasis placed on his rank. "Just remember, everyone: we need all the shipgirls that we can get, and to keep in mind _who_ you choose for tutoring. Imagine Johnston in contact with your children."

Everyone shuddered. One newly-minted lieutenant fainted dead away.

"That's what I thought."


	218. Rule 2720

**AN: And now a special bonus chapter, based on Lord K's hilarious Kanmusu Online snippets!**

Rule 2720. The idiot who posted the "Nagumo Task Force Midway Autopsy Report" is to report to the admiral immediately. Hurry before they find you.

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 **Topic: Nagumo Task Force Midway Autopsy Report  
Boards ► Japan ► General Discussion**  
► **FrogFriend5006** (Original Poster) (JMSDF)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:  
Posted without comment:

"Nagumo Task Force Midway Autopsy Report"

 **(Showing page 1 of 5)**

► **Nightmare of Solomon** (JMSDF) (Poi) (夕立)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:  
who's this, poi

► **6TheDragon6BladePrincess6** (JMSDF) (Chunni Boat) (天龍)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:

i . imgur QVE768u . png

Like, seriously, guys, even I can smell the bait from here, and we all know how bad I am at smelling bait!

Edit: Okay, and everyone knows how I'm so bad, don't drag up my posting history. Again.

Please?

► **LongSufferingSecretary** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Secretary Boat) (大淀)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:  
Consider this your warning on the subject. We will not tolerate derails of any kind.

Though I am curious as to what the document says...

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:  
Well, I've got nothing better to do. Wish me luck, everyone!

► **LuckyCrane** (JMSDF) (Verified Turkey) (瑞鶴)  
Posted On May 21st 20XX:  
I'm curious, too, I've never seen this one. And I thought I'd read all the Midway material there was out there.

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Oh. My god.

 **►LuckyCrane** (JMSDF) (Verified Turkey) (瑞鶴)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Can'tSpellSarashi, DAKKADAKKA, Bongo_Kongou, MountHiei, Ms. Mic Check, Daijobu, FlyingDragon, Cape Kaga, Red Castle, Blue Dragon, Phone Gal, Gently_Tease, get in here!

► **Bongo_Kongou** (JMSDF) (Honorary Brit Boat) (Tea Master) (Flagship) (金剛)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I'm here, what the dess do you want.

Edit: I wasn't even with Nagumo, you stupid turkey.

► **Can'tSpellSarashi** (JMSDF) (嵐)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I LED THEM TO THE CARRIERS?!

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5**

 **(Showing page 2 of 5)**

► **Hagikaze** (JMSDF) (Granola Girl) (萩風)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Great, now look what you've done! We were trying to keep that a secret from her, you stupid turkey!

► **Nowacchi** (JMSDF) (野分)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Wow, you pissed of Hagikaze. That's hard to do.

But yes, we were trying to keep that from her, because of this exact reaction. So thanks for that, turkey.

► **LuckyCrane** (JMSDF) (Verified Turkey) (瑞鶴)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
STOP CALLING ME THAT!

► **CakeBringer** (JMSDF) (五月雨)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Uh, not to pry, but what is that reaction?

► **Hagikaze** (JMSDF) (Granola Girl) (萩風)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
She' curled up in a fetal position in a corner of her room, crying and muttering!

You know what? Forget the turkey. Who posted this thing? That's what I wanna know!

► **DakkaDakka** (JMSDF) (磯風)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I'm with Hagi, who wrote this thing? I mean, what was I supposed to do, flail my hands at those planes? Try and blow the bombs away? I didn't get my AA upgrade until 1943!

► **Nightmare of Solomon** (JMSDF) (Poi) (夕立)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I still don't know who the op is, poi…

► **Ms. Mic Check** (JMSDF) (霧島)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
In an effort to wrench this somewhat back on topic, does anyone have a tl;dr? Because that is a 120-page pdf, and there's only a 1.2% chance of my reading that entire thing being worth it.

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Since Zuikaku's obviously biased, I'll do it.

Basically, this is a pretty factual criticism of every mistake, problem, and misstep that led to the Japanese defeat at Midway.

Unfortunately, that style is presented in a very inflammatory way. It's… okay, remember that one blog that does super-angry reviews of WWII books?

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5**

 **(Showing page 3 of 5)**

► **KTKM-SAMA (JMSDF)** (Hyper Torpedo Goddess) (北上)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Yeah, I think everyone read his "review" of that Richard Maybury book. That was funny.

Wait, is this in the same style? All caps, lots of swear words, very angry?

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Exactly. So I recommend that people don't read it. Tenryuu's right, it's obviously some sort of bait.

 **Cape Kaga** (JMSDF) (Heater Boat) (加賀)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I was not badly designed! And even if I were, you have no leg to stand on regarding damage control procedures, Zuikaku!

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Oh great…

► **Prancing Dragon** (JMSDF) (Flattest Top) (龍驤)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
*grabs popcorn*

Oh, this is gonna be good.

► **LuckyCrane** (JMSDF) (Verified Turkey) (瑞鶴)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Sorry, can't hear you over the sound of my sister surviving three bombs! And then six!

► **Red Castle** (JMSDF) (Verified Glutton) (赤城)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
And now she's storming out.

What even is in that PDF?

► **ExplosiveMelons** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Scientist Boat) (夕張)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Trust me, you don't want to know.

And just FYI, everyone, while nothing's crossed a line yet, no personal attacks. We will be watching, and our banhammers are warmed up.

► **FlyingDragon** (JMSDF) (飛龍)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
SOMEONE FIND THE OP ALREADY, DAMMIT!

► **Prancing Dragon** (JMSDF) (Flattest Top) (龍驤)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
*popcorn intensifies*

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5**

 **(Showing page 4 of 5)**

► **Old January** (JMSDF) (睦月)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
So are we just a reaction thread at this point? Because I'm cool with that.

► **KTKM-SAMA** (JMSDF) (Hyper Torpedo Goddess) (北上)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
What's got your panties in a bundle, FlyingDragon?

► **FlyingDragon** (JMSDF) (飛龍)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
SCREW YOU, KITAKAMI, THIS IS SERIOUS!

This jackass is slandering the good name of Tamon Yamaguchi!

► **Kusonator** (JMSDF) (Kuso Boat) (曙)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
He went down with you, after sticking around to hit Yorktown some more and getting your ass sunk in the first place.

As far as I'm concerned, and as far as you should be concerned, he was a classic kuso teitoku.

► **Zekamashi** (JMSDF) (Prototype Club) (Fast Boat) (島風)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Shoot, not fast enough! Oh well.

Also, what's got granny Kongo all grumpy?

[USER HAS BEEN INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER. WE WEREN'T JOKING]

► **LongSufferingSecretary** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Secretary Boat) (大淀)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
We were not joking around about the no derail policy, Zekamashi. Have 25 points and a three-day threadban to cool your heels.

The rest of you, carry on.

► **Blue Dragon** (JMSDF) (蒼龍)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
I'd recommend hiding, Kusonator. Hiryu just stormed out of her room muttering about you. She looked ready to hit something.

► **Kusonator** (JMSDF) (Kuso Boat) (曙)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Shit. Ah, IhateEva, DoingHerBest, little help here?

► **DoingHerBest** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (吹雪)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Well, maybe if you hadn't lumped me in with the rest of the "shitty command staff" last week...

► **IhateEva** (JMSDF) (綾波)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Sorry, Akebono, I like having all my teeth.

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5**

 **(Showing page 5 of 5)**

► **TehLewdmarine** (JMSDF) (Verified Lewdmarine) (一九)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Forget her, we're missing the really important part! Phone Gal, Gently_Tease, you fucked up the submarine recon that bad? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

► **Phone Gal** (JMSDF) (一六八)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Oh, screw you, Iku! And not in the fun way, either! With actual screws!

It's not our fault that we were ordered out late because that damn Yamamoto was rushing the whole damn operation! And that the Americans were already parked in the French Frigate Shoals where we were supposed to be refueling the flying boats!

Besides, if it weren't for me, we wouldn't have bagged any carriers, so kindly shut your damn mouth! Or get someone to stuff it! Whatever works!

► **Big Seven** (JMSDF) (Flagship) (長門) (Nagamon)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT YAMAMOTO-DONO?

► **Gently_Tease** (JMSDF) (Verified Domme) (香取)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Do calm down, Nagato. The man was hardly flawless, even you have to admit that.

And Iku, if you ever impugn the submarines at Midway again, I will be forced to use my… extreme measures on you. I assure you, I can keep you on the edge however long I like.

► **TehLewdmarine** (JMSDF) (Verified Lewdmarine) (一九)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Shutting up now.

► **HighImpactNightBattleViolence** (JMSDF) (Yasen Baka) (川内)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Wow, the lewdmarine has better survival instincts than Akebono. That's kinda sad.

► **Shoukeikaku** (JMSDF) (翔鶴)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Ah, include my poor sister in that category, too. I didn't know Kaga knew wrestling.

What on earth does that document say to get Kaga so angry?

► **Plasma-Chan** (JMSDF) (Rescue Boat) (電)

Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
Can I just point out that the OP a. hasn't posted since and b. doesn't have a name tag?

Who is this? Is this someone's sockpuppet for trolling purposes?

► **Nightmare of Solomon** (JMSDF) (Poi) (夕立)  
Posted On May 22nd 20XX:  
thats what ive been asking poi!

► **HMS Pepperpot** (Royal Navy) (Pennant 97)  
Replied On May 22nd, 20XX:  
What the fuck is going on in this thread.

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5**

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 **Private message from: FrogFriend5006**

 **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 7, 20XX:  
So I know this isn't the usual procedure for this thing, but there are special circumstances. With me. So I can't go through the usual channels.

Basically, I need a verified JMSDF tag. And no characters!

I know this is all weird, and you've probably got a lot of questions, but I can prove my Japanese status! And I really can't do it in the general staff forum, for… reasons.

Help?

 **(Showing page 1 of 2)**

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 8, 20XX:  
Forgive me for being a bit skeptical of someone with a French IP address claiming to be a Japanese shipgirl. There aren't any of you in France, AFAIK.

And why no characters?

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 8, 20XX:  
Reasons. Reasons that…

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 9, 20XX:  
Are you still here, FrogFriend5006?

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 9, 20XX:  
Yeah, I am. Fuck it. Going all in.

I'm Aso.

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 9, 20XX:  
wat

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 9, 20XX:  
Yeah, that's about the reaction I expected.

Yeah, it's me. Aso. The worst shipgirl on the planet. I'm here in France, and have Internet. Please don't try and find me. Can I have that tag, please?

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
Give me one good reason why I shouldn't ban this sockpuppet right now.

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
Because I've changed! Seriously! No samurai references anywhere in my username!

And if you don't believe that, well, my posting history speaks for itself. The old me would've been unable to restrain herself, especially in the fifth Senkaku Islands thread.

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
You have a point, loathe as I am to admit it…

Fine. I'll give you the tag. What do I say to the rest of the mods?

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
That I'm a new summon with crippling shyness who wants to stay anonymous?

 **End of Page. 1, 2**

 **(Showing page 2 of 2)**

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 10, 20XX:

That would probably work, yes.

Just stay on good behavior, alright? I'd rather not have to explain all this to the rest of the staff.

► **FrogFriend5006**  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
I make no promises.

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted April 10, 20XX:  
Just be aware. I have a good idea of where you are IRL. Don't give me cause to confirm that.

 **End of Page. 1, 2**

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 **Topic: Who the fuck is FrogFriend5006?!  
Boards ► Restricted ► Staff Forum ►General**  
► **The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (那珂) (Unloveable Plebeian Trash)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Alright, poster name is in the title, so fess up: who gave her the JMSDF tag? Because I'm pretty sure between us me, Ooyodo, and the Yuubari twins know every one of the shipgirls in the JMSDF, and we don't recognize her. Like, at all. And none of us remember validating that tag.

So, again. Fess up. Or I will go over your head to BattleshipX.

 **(Showing page 1 of 3)**

► **BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
I have been summoned!

And I smell a shitstorm of a thread. :3 So, what was the latest clusterfuck that prompted this?

► **August Coon** (Moderator) (USN) (Royal Yacht) (CA-31)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Title's "Nagumo Task Force Midway Autopsy Report". Go check it out, I'm honestly surprised you missed it.

While we're waiting for SoDak to catch up, really? I honestly thought you guys had verified that tag.

► **BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Oh man, the title alone. BRB, reading!

► **Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (DD-513) (USN)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
That's what I thought, too.

► **Suzumebachi** (Moderator) (Verified Haunted) (USN) (CV-12)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Honestly, I wish I'd thought of that. That's choice-grade trolling right there. Not prime-grade, but eh. Anyway, no, wasn't me.

► **xX_Milk_Mama_Xx** (U-488) (Moderator) (Deutsche Marine)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
I had nothing to do with this!

I'm innocent!

► **HMAster Blaster** (Moderator) (Royal Australian Navy) (D84)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Okay, are we seriously going to go through this for every mod on the site? Including the ones that are only waking up in six hours? Isn't there some way to track this sort of thing?

► **Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (DD-513) (USN)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Well, with SoDak busy…

► **HMAster Blaster** (Moderator) (Royal Australian Navy) (D84)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Bloody hell. Seriously, you guys?

► **LongSufferingSecretary** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Secretary Boat) (大淀)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
She's the one who runs the forum architecture and keeps the servers from melting. Until she deigns to share the technical tools, this is the situation we're stuck in.

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3**

 **(Showing page 2 of 3)**

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
In my defense, she lasted a lot longer than I expected before causing a fuss.

► **The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (那珂) (Unloveable Plebeian Trash)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
You gave her that tag?! Okay, then, who is she? I assume you at least verified that she was Japanese before just slapping the JMSDF tag on her!

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Knew I was going to regret this…

It's Aso.

And in 3… 2… 1…

► **The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (那珂) (Unloveable Plebeian Trash)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
WHAT?!

► **Suzumebachi** (Moderator) (Verified Haunted) (USN) (CV-12)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
EXCUSE ME?!

► **ExplosiveMelons** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Scientist Boat) (夕張)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!

► **HMAster Blaster** (Moderator) (Royal Australian Navy) (D84)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Drama! Drama! Delicious, juicy drama! I'll get the popcorn!

► **Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (DD-513) (USN)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Australia, shut up, you're not helping.

And Teste, you'd better have a damn good reason for getting Aso, of all people, back on the board!

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Essentially, she reached out, she'd been on a week already and kept her nose clean, so I decided she deserved a second chance. I also have a good idea of where she is IRL, and I let her know that.

And you know what? For over a month she behaved herself. I'm not really regretting my decision.

► **The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (那珂) (Unloveable Plebeian Trash)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Well, great job. You don't regret it. Big whoop. We've still got a thread that she drenched in gasoline and handed everyone torches!

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3**

 **(Showing page 3 of 3)**

► **LongSufferingSecretary** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Secretary Boat) (大淀)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
You know where she is?!

Tell me! Or Kasagi will drive me mad!

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
LongSufferingSecretary  
Sorry, but I only have suspicions. And besides, I'm not going to betray her confidence like that.

The Fleets Idol  
Oh really? Is what she did any worse than Pola's drunkposting? Or Dunkerque's "HON HON HON!" schtick? Or the Russian shipgirls getting into screaming arguments with everyone else on the merits of socialism? All of them are still on this site, despite their best efforts.

Look. Just let this go through the normal channels. If she is the same old Aso - which I don't think she is, but that's beside the point - then she'll slip up and give us a reason to permaban her. And if not, well, she'll keep her nose clean and only intermittently bother us.

I'm really not seeing the downside here.

► **ExplosiveMelons** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Scientist Boat) (夕張)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
So, basically this?

imgs . xkcd comics / constructive . png

► **Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Posted May 25th, 20XX:  
Yeah, pretty much.

Now, does anyone have any actual objections?

► **BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Posted May 26th, 20XX:  
Ha, oh man, I like the cut of her jib. Yeah, she stays.

► **The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (那珂) (Unloveable Plebeian Trash)  
Posted May 26th, 20XX:  
Oh, come on!

 **End of Page. 1, 2, 3**


	219. Rule 2721

**Rule 2721. The "Katie Gatling" is to be destroyed. Immediately.**

Over at Hawaii, Iowa staggered into the headquarters of the Central Princess, exhaustion settled deep into her bones. Teaching a bunch of Ta-class how to battleship properly continued to be an exercise in frustration, especially when she was trying to maintain her bubbly exterior.

"I need a fucking drink," the battleship groaned as she opened the door the suite she shared with the Abyssal installation - and the minibar installed there.

[SURPRISE!]

Iowa froze, blinking at the sight of most of Hawaii's senior staff standing amidst streamers and banners and balloons and little party hats. A large cake festooned with candles sat on a central table with Central Princess right next to it, and along one wall was a sizeable buffet with an array of foods and several bottles of drink.

[Happy Launch Day, dear,] Central Princess said warmly.

Still blinking, Iowa counted the days and realized with a start that yes, it was her Launch Day. "Well, shit, if you're gonna go to all this trouble, how can I say no?" she said as she strode over to the buffet line and plucked a bottle out of the booze area, eyeing it. Brandy. Aged, _expensive_ brandy. Grinning, she popped the top off, upended it, and gulped down a solid half of the bottle. Everyone watched, wide-eyed, and then Iowa spun around and held the bottle up.

"Let's get this party started!"

The room erupted into cheers, and the party did indeed start. Iowa took another swig, and wound her way through the crowd to the cake, where she plopped into the chair, at which point she noticed just how many candles there were on the cake.

"Ten... twenty... seventy-eight, seventy-nine..." She frowned as someone lit the candles. "You cheeky bitches. You're all lucky I like you."

A hand alighted onto her back. [Just enjoy the moment, dear,] Central Princess retorted.

Rolling her eyes, Iowa blew out the candles to the cheers of everyone around them. At that, the party pulled into full swing. Cake was consumed, followed by the snacks and booze. An eclectic array of music from Baroque harpsichord performances to fresh-off-Soundcloud EDM jams brought the guests onto an impromptu dance floor.

Iowa, being still tired, mostly refrained, sitting at the cake table steadily demolishing the remaining brandy and chatting with Central Princess, Butler, and anyone who just wanted to stop by and chat.

"- And now I've got them working on the about-face maneuver," Iowa continued, words slightly slurred by the alcohol. "Now, I expected them to be bad. But this? This is surpassing all my worst expectations!"

Butler nodded sagely. [Ta-class. What can you do?] she shrugged. [They shoot, and they maneuver, and they take hits well enough, but try and get them to work together and they make cats look like pack animals. Now, Ru-class, on the other hand-]

[Oh, the present's here!]

Iowa perked up, tirade forgotten, as a pair of cruisers nosed through the door, carrying a massive package and heading straight for her.

"Aw, you didn't have to do that," Iowa said, before grinning. "Nah, I'm totally digging this. So, what is it?"

The two cruisers placed it down with a loud thump, and with considerable theatricality Central Princess stood and gripped the tarp covering whatever the present was. [Iowa, beloved, I present to you...] A tug, and off it went, revealing a massive, three-barrel rotary cannon with an attached ammo pack. [The Katie gatling gun!]

At that moment, the entire room was treated to a rare sight: Iowa's jaw dropping open in naked shock. "The _Katie_ gatling gun?!" she demanded. "Where did you even _get_ Katie shells?!"

Her lover leaned onto the weapon, grinning sunnily. [Honestly? Figuring out how to build nuclear weapons isn't that hard when you have access to the Internet. The fissile material would be the hard part, if it weren't for the fact that it's not hard to find uranium if you have access to the seabed. Though we're still building up the stockpile at this point, so you can't quite enjoy it yet.]

"That's fine," Iowa said weakly. "I think I need to get used to this." For a moment, she stared, and then she turned away. "Okay, I'm used to it. Party!"

[PARTY!]

~o~

Some hours later, the party had died down, mostly because the guest of honor had finally succumbed to the dual assaults of exhaustion and high-grade alcohol. Everyone streamed out, heading for an outdoor afterparty and leaving the loving couple to each other. The gun, too, remained there.

And so did an empty cardboard box, sitting upside down near- wait.

What?

The box shifted, and then fell on its side, revealing Sendai. "Can't believe that worked," she muttered as she stalked up to the gun. Going into the guts of the weapon, she gave them a once-over. "Well, the bad news is that none of the tools I have on hand are really suitable for this sort of thing. The good news is, I have no idea what I'm doing."

So saying, Sendai went to work on the breech, carelessly breaking several important mechanisms. Her job complete, Sendai stole away, but not before a regretful glance Iowa's way.

"Sorry, Iowa," she whispered. "But that's too dangerous to exist."


	220. Rule 2727

**Rule 2727. This rule can be not followed but Hiei + Long hair is quite dangerous. Please keep it in limited amounts.  
**  
"You wanted to see me, Admiral?"

Admiral Goto very gratefully looked up from his paperwork to Hiei, and opened is mouth to reply. And opened it. And opened it. And opened it some more until it felt like it would pop out of the joint.

See, Hiei had done something very different with her appearance: she'd grown her hair long. Two tufts at the side still marked where the old cut had been. The effect was to give her a sharper, sterner, and - somehow - more youthful appearance. It looked extremely good. And it reminded Admiral Goto very much of her older sister.

"Uh, Admiral?" Hiei quizzically queried, her head tilting. Hair followed, as did Admiral Goto's eyes. "Are you alright?" She leaned in, still staring at him, and it was all Admiral Goto could do not to skitter back.

 _'She smells nice,'_ was the incongruous - and traitorous - thought that ran through his head.

"I don't think you're sick," Hiei mused, before suddenly paling and stepping back as something occurred to her. "Oh, shit. I didn't realize-"

"GOOD MO~RNING, TEI~TO~KU~!" Kongo announced as she threw the door open. Her eyes alighted on Admiral Goto, and they widened to comical levels. "What the desu?!"

"Sis! It's not what it looks like!" Hiei tried to assure the battleship.

"So I'm not being NTR'd by my own sister?!" Kongo shouted, whirling on the other battleship. "How could you!"

"HHHIIIIIEEEEEEIIIIIII?!" Hiei wailed, quailing under Kongo's fury. "I didn't even mean too, Kongou-Onee-sama! I only wanted to feel different!"

Suddenly, something crashed in through the window, quickly revealed to be Iku, who then hustled between the two battleships and pushed them apart.

"Alright, Kongo, calm down," she declared. "This is a 'hat's off' situation."

Once again, Kongo's eyes widened. "Then you mean it's-"

"Uh-huh."

Her gaze shifted to Hiei. "And she's-"

"Uh- _huh_."

Blinking, Kongo quickly bowed to her sister. "I'm so sorry, Hiei. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Ah, no, no, it's fine!" Hiei quickly assured her. "So, how do we fix this?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to get a haircut, Hiei," Iku informed her sadly. "I mean, it looks good, but..."

"Yeah..." Sighing, Hiei began to trundle towards the door, Iku trailing behind. Kongo remained, nervously eyeing Admiral Goto, but once Hiei was out the door, he blinked shivered, and then lucidity returned to his eyes.

"I feel strangely tingly inside," he said. "I don't know why but I like this feeling."

Any further thoughts on said tingly feeling were promptly smothered by Kongo grabbing him and kissing. Furiously. Much tongue was involved. In fact, about thirty seconds in the kiss started straddling the line between a romantic act and a medical procedure.

In the outer office, Ooyodo stood, closed and locked the door, placed the "Do Not Disturb" sign up, and then retrieved some earplugs before sitting back down at her desk.


	221. Rule 2729

**AN: Yes, another Kanmusu Online post. It just** ** _works_** **for this rule.**

 **Rule 2729. No, the Pope is not called the poitifex maximus, does not live in Nippoi, and is not, in fact, Yuudachi in disguise. Stop teasing our Italian allies with such jokes. They are not amused.**

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 **Topic: Roman Catholics V**  
 **In: Boards ► Global ► General Discussion ► Life on Shore  
►All Roads Lead To Roma (Original Poster) (Marina Militare) (Roma (1940)) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)**  
Replied On March 9th, 20XX:  
You all know the drill at this point. New thread, continue the old discussion, blah blah blah. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bunch of paperwork with my name on it to go deal with. Literally.

We need a new Admiral here. Stat.

Edit: FFS, people. Don't feed the obvious trolls.

 **(Showing page 112 out of 137)**

► **Floof Eagle** (Marina Militare) (Aquila 1941)

Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
You think it's bad with destroyers? Try doing it with _torpedo boats_. The little blighters are even more unruly and excitable, and make herding cats look easy. And they tend to come in batches, so herds are very necessary.

Glad I don't have to deal with them!

► **I Dare Any Beverage** (Booze Boat) (Pola 1932) (Marina Militare)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Why do you think I started drinking?

► **Gorgeous Legs** (Post-War Veteran) (Baguette Boat) (Georges Leygues 1936)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Pola, everyone knows Matapan is when you turned into the exhibitionist lush that you are, don't try to deny it.

Floof Eagle  
I will totally second that sentiment. I look at the poor old Courbets trying to get the torpedo boats and corvettes into sufficiently formal attire, and I thank God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and anyone else listening that I don't need to deal with that.

► **El Presidente** (Armada Argentina) (Rivadavia 1914)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Thirding. La Argentina got lucky, in that she only had to do it once. Once was enough.

► **NumberOne!1!** (JMSDF) (Not Actually Number One) (白露)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
So, this is where all the Catholic botes hang out. I've got a bunch of questions.

Is the Pope really known as the **poi** tifex maximus?

Is the Vatican _actually_ called Nip **poi**?

And most of all, is the pope actually Yuudachi in disguise? Because if she is, I want my sister back, dammit! And the people have a right to now!

► **I Dare Any Beverage** (Booze Boat) (Pola 1932) (Marina Militare)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:

[ www . reactiongifs r / booze . gif]

► **Savy Savoia** (Marina Militare) (Eugenio di Savoia (1935))  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:

[ i . imgur 7Bh27s4 . jpg]

► **Dunkek** (Dunkerque 1937) (Baguette Boat)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
 _I_ sense an English plot!

► **Lucky'O** (USN) (DD-450)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Go home, Dunkek, you're drunk.

No, seriously, guys, she's drunk. Plastered. Shit-faced. Whatever you wanna call it. I kinda want to join her after what Shiratsuyu posted, but this is pretty standard for Japanese shipgirls. They're almost as bad as Danes when it comes to this sort of thing.

► **Citta della Domenica** (WWII Survivor) (Marina Militare) (Raimondo Montecuccoli (1934)) (Amusement Park Boat)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
NumberOne!1!  
No... just... no. None of that is true. The Vatican is the Vatican, the _proper_ Latin is _pontificus_ maximus, and the Pope is most definitely not Yuudachi in disguise. How on Earth could you even _think_ that?!

Ugh. I need a drink. I Dare Any Beverage, what's your wine selection look like?  
 **  
End of Page. 1... 110, 111, 112, 113, 114... 137**  
 **  
(Showing page 113 out of 137)**

► **I Dare Any Beverage** (Booze Boat) (Pola 1932) (Marina Militare)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
I'll break out the _nice_ vintages. Meet you in your room?

► **Smoking De Grasse** (Baguette Boat) (De Grasse (1946)) (Nuked Boat)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
What on Earth is that destroyer smoking?

► **Nightmare of Solomon** (JMSDF) (Poi) (夕立)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Uh, NumberOne!1! i'm not the pope. im in yokosuka been here three days.

what's a Pope, anyway?

► **NumberOne!1!** (JMSDF) (Not Actually Number One) (白露)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
You... you mean Kinu _lied_ to me?!

► **Smoking De Grasse** (Baguette Boat) (De Grasse (1946)) (Nuked Boat)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Kinu. You thought Kinu, the biggest troll on the board, a confirmed prankster, was telling you the _truth?_ When the truth is less funny than a lie?

I repeat, NumberOne!1!: what on earth have you been smoking?

► **All Roads Lead To Roma (Original Poster) (Marina Militare) (Roma (1940)) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)**  
Replied On March 9th, 20XX:  
Sisters, today we march! We march to combat a most unholy heresy, to cleanse it with sacred fire before it can infest others! We march to Japan!

Who's with me?  
 **  
►Gorgeous Legs** (Post-War Veteran) (Baguette Boat) (Georges Leygues 1936)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
I'm with you 110%, Roma! Any church that refuses to use proper wine for communion will be put to the torcH!

► **All Roads Lead To Roma (Original Poster) (Marina Militare) (Roma (1940)) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)**  
Replied On March 9th, 20XX:  
Uh, Leygues? We're going to beat up Kinu, not burn churches.

► **Gorgeous Legs** (Post-War Veteran) (Baguette Boat) (Georges Leygues 1936)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Oh. Well, that sounds fun, too. I've always wanted to go to Japan.

► **Karls'N'Charge** (Deutsche Marine) (Karlsruhe 1929)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
I'm in! You have my sword, Roma!

 **End of Page. 1... 111, 112, 113, 114, 115... 137**

 **(Showing page 114 out of 137)**

► **Dunkek** (Dunkerque 1937) (Baguette Boat)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Yes! Off we march to retake England for Catholicism! HuzzaH!  
 **  
►Lucky'O** (USN) (DD-450)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
That's it, I'm taking your phone and kicking you out!

And in case anyone's wondering why I'm posting that, it's so all of you lot stop encouraging her!

► **Oni Fury** (JMSDF) (Verified Troll) (鬼怒)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Pfft, what are you all going to do, tweet at me? There's a little something called Asia in between you and me, you may have heard of it.

► **All Roads Lead To Roma (Original Poster) (Marina Militare) (Roma (1940)) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)**  
Replied On March 9th, 20XX:  
Alright, whoever wants to join me in the Kinu Crusade, PM me so I can start setting up plane tickets. We get enough of us and I may be able to swing a chartered flight.

Don't worry about costs, this is a drop in the bucket compared to even the fleet's discretionary funds. I'll foot the bill.

► **Oni Fury** (JMSDF) (Verified Troll) (鬼怒)  
Replied On June 1st, 20XX:  
Uh-oh.

 **End of Page. 1... 112, 113, 114, 115, 116... 137**


	222. Rule 2730

**Rule 2730. No matter how good your intentions are, you may not replace the American ice cream supply with gelato.  
**  
Under the cover of the night, a shadowy figure darted in between the buildings of the naval base at Norfolk. The bored sentries didn't see her, and unmanned security was light in this part of the base, and so she reached her destination with little trouble.

An open window offered means of ingress, and once in Alberto da Giussano crept towards the massive walk-in freezer that held the base's ice cream supplies. Somehow, despite the earlier pranking of said supplies in San Diego, no additional security measures had been added. Perhaps Santa Fe's grizzly fate had convinced Command that that would be a sufficient deterrent. However, Giussano both thought she was doing the Americans a favor, and had no intention of being anywhere near Norfolk when the news broke. Just in case.

In any event, the Italian cruiser was able to easily gain access to the freezer, whereupon she began loading up ice cream as fast as she could, just as quickly unloading a similar amount of gelato. A moment to thank Garibaldi for giving her the Americans' ice cream preferences, and then she was carefully arranging the containers so that the movement wouldn't be noticed. Much.

And the instant that was done, she was out of the freezer and out into the night, pumping steam throughout her body to warm up trembling extremities.

~o~

Unknown Unknowns are the bane of any well-made plan. The personal enemies of planners and chessmasters the world and history over. They cannot be anticipated or planned for, and since the universe has a perverse sense of humor they have tendency to be the sort of thing to unravel the _entire_ scheme.

In this case, the unknown unknown was the 4-piper George E. Badger, who happened to come in early for her daily ice cream ration. The mess workers were just unloading the ice cream for serving when she arrived, and one of them gladly took a break to ladle out some chocolate ice cream.

Now, the _reason_ Badger was an unknown unknown was that she was one of six 4-pipers that had done a stint in the Coast Guard trying to catch rum runners. All six had thus developed a highly sensitive sense of taste, which resulted in them being excellent cooks and in high demand from aspiring chefs among the shipgirl population.

It also meant that when Badger scooped up her gelato and put it in her mouth, she immediately noticed the difference.

 _'Huh. Low on butter fat,'_ she mused as she turned the dessert over in her mouth. _'Smoother and thicker, too, which means fewer air pockets. And wow that's strong flavoring.'_ Swallowing, an angry frown came over her face, and she lifted up her cup.

"THIS ISN'T ICE CREAM, THIS IS GELATO! FUCKING SPAGHETTIS!"

The mess staff glanced at each other, and then one spoke up. "So, uh, should we-"

"Just serve it," Badger said dismissively. "Most of the tin cans won't know the difference. In the meantime, I'm going to go find the culprit!"

This proclamation was followed by another spoonful of gelato.

"Though I will say, whoever did this has good taste in gelato."

~o~

A knock at the door broke Roma out of her paperwork trance and reminded her about her appointment. "Come in!" she announced. Garibaldi quickly walked in and Roma sat back, waiting for the juicy go- intel. It was intel.

"So the Americans are in an uproar because someone replaced the day's ice cream ration with gelato," the cruiser reported. Many a cry of 'FUCKING SPAGHETTIS!' was heard."

"Odd, that," Roma remarked. "I wonder who could have done such a thing."

"Yeah, about that," Garibaldi replied. "Giussano bought a lot of gelato recently. And I mean a lot. A store's daily supply a lot. She also hasn't been seen for two days, and purchased one of the special endurance-boosting portable meals a day before disappearing."

"An odd coincidence, that."

Garibaldi stared at Roma for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, just thought I would bring that to your attention."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."


	223. Rule 2731

**Rule 2731. The ice cream supply is not those damned jelly beans from Harry Potter. Do not, under any circumstances, add any unusual flavors. Ignore this rule and your Darwin Award will be in the mail.  
**  
Morning dawned in San Diego, and mess staff were hard at work getting the day's ice cream ration out of the big freezers. It was only when they opened them that the realized something was wrong.

"... What kind of flavor is this?" one of them said, eyeing the dull red ice cream in the bin he'd opened. Glancing down, he read the label and his eyebrows shot for his hairline. _"Tomato?"  
_  
"What the fuck is gochujang?" another worker wondered aloud.

"Oh god why."

Heads turned to that last speaker, who numbly turned around the tub he was handling. Everyone present read the flavor - Hawaiian pizza - and shuddered.

"We can't put this out," one of the workers said, whole body shaking. "There'd be riots in the streets! And destroyers after our heads! How'd this even get past our security?!"

"Worse than if we didn't serve ice cream at all?" someone pointed out.

Everyone considered that. Memories of the big riot some months back sprang to life, and as one everyone present shuddered. No. No, putting out all these odd flavors was _not_ worse than not giving out ice cream at all. After all, someone might like some of these crazy flavors.

Hopefully.

~o~

"Oh, man, gochujang!" destroyer Halsey Powell exclaimed as she looked over the selection. "I was worried I'd never find that again without schlepping up to San Francisco or LA." She frowned. "Never had it as ice cream, though..."

The destroyer hummed and thought and eventually decided on three scoops.

~o~

"You wouldn't happen to know where I could find more of this Guinness-flavored ice cream, would you?" O'Bannon asked, getting a shake of her head. "Damn. I guess I'd better go talk to Wright, make sure that I get that from the culprit. One scoop, please."

~o~

"Oh, PBJ?" Turner crowed. "Two scoops of that, please!"

"And I want to see what this sour chocolate is like," Beale added.

~o~

"Hawaiian pizza flavor?!" St. Louis roared. "This is a travesty!"

When nobody tried to contradict her, she glanced curiously over to Santa Fe, standing next to her with an angry scowl on her face.

"You're not going to stump for Hawaiian pizza flavor?" she asked.

"I would, but pizza-flavored ice cream just makes me..." She shuddered. "Eurgh. No."

~o~

"Durian ice cream?!" Enterprise squealed. The poor attendant behind the counter would later swear that her eyes _sparkled_. "I'll take the whole tub! And where you got this!"

"Er, we don't know," the attendant said. "Someone broke in to the freezer and replaced all our ice cream with... this."

"Aw..." Enterprise whined. "Oh well, I'll talk to Wright about it later."

~o~

Of course, with such flavors as egg yolk, white chocolate banana curry, and lobster, the above who were satisfied were a distinct minority. By mid-afternoon, another destroyer riot was in full swing, until Jerry, the ice cream barge, announced free sampling. That defused it quite quickly. Still, that it had happened at all was baffling and unnecessary.

Worse, Champlain hadn't found much.

"I can't explain it, Admiral," she said, shaking her head. "It's like the culprit walked in through the walls of the freezer."

Admiral Holloway opened his mouth-

"And no, it wasn't Hornet. She has an alibi."

"Well, then, I've got nothing," Admiral Holloway said.

"You see the problem, then," Champlain sighed. "I think we're just going to have to let this one go. And contact the Japanese about warding against intangibility."

"All this over ice cream..."


	224. Rule 2732

**Rule 2732. Duct tape, WD-40, and super glue is supposed to be only a temporary fix. Do not use it as a total substitute for the docks.**

Renown took a deep breath, the smell of heather, grass, and cold salt water tickling her nose. Ah, it was good to be back in Scapa Flow, even if only for a short time.

Suddenly, a loud explosion from one of the surrounding islands shook the bay, and Renown sighed, good mood gone. Right, there were also problems with being stationed at Scapa. Reasons that played a major role in her accepting the Force H posting. From conversations with Ark Royal and Sheffield, they'd joined up for much the same reasons.

Regardless, she was here, and ideally would be gone before any kind of shenanigans hit her. Turning around, she headed into the base's shore facilities, looking for her sister Repulse.

It was a short search, given Repulse was in her room, and Renown opened the door, a hello on her lips, when she saw something that strangled the word in its crib.

Namely, Repulse's rigging, which the battlecruiser was working and was festooned with duct tape and visible bits of superglue. Both were also visible on Repulse's exposed skin, and were piled high on her desk, along with several cans of WD-40.

"What... are you doing?" Renown managed to get out.

Repulse started, and then turned around, her face lighting up at the sight of her big sister. "Sis, hey! What brings you to Scapa?"

"Just answer the question, please."

"Oh, this?" Repulse replied, looking over her rigging. "I'm patching up my rigging! I took another few cruiser shells on my last sortie, y'see."

"Let me rephrase, then," Renown said in a strained voice. Strain that almost immediately boiled over. "WHY THE BLOODY _FUCK_ ARE YOU REPAIRING YOUR GEAR WITH DUCT TAPE AND SUPERGLUE?!"

"And myself!" Repulse helpfully pointed out.

"NOT. THE POINT," Renown grit out. "ANSWER THE BLOODY QUESTION ALREADY."

"Sheesh, you don't have to shout..." Repulse grumbled. "If you must know, it's because I hate sitting in the docks." A pained and familiar grimace played over her face. "Really hate it."

A pang of sympathy ran through Renown, as well as some unpleasant memories from meeting a grief-stricken Princess Royal in between refit periods. There was a reason she and her sister had been nicknamed "HMS Refit" and "HMS Repair" for years.

Still, sympathy could only go so far, and Renown knew that Repulse had to see the inside of a dock soon, lest she completely fall apart or something. But she couldn't just say that. Words wouldn't sway Repulse if her deteriorating condition and pissed-off fairies hadn't already.

So, instead, Renown walked up to Repulse, slapped her on the back, and said "I know how you feel." She then feigned surprise when that backslap left Repulse leaned forward, quivering in pain. "Are you alright?"

"No..." Repulse squeaked.

"I'd better take you to the docks, then..."

"No!" came the reply, still squeaked. "No docks!"

"Repulse, I can see you're in pain," Renown admonished as she grabbed her sister's hand to pull her up. "Woman up and head to the docks, otherwise you'll-"

Renown's yank of Repulse's arm encountered far less resistance than expected. This was because it had popped bloodlessly out of its socket. Both battlecruisers stared at the sight. And then the screaming began.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH-"

~o~

Renown paced back and forth outside of the repair shop HMS Resource worked out of. Normally, damage wouldn't require the direct services of a repair ship, but both Renown and Repulse had agreed that in this case it was required.

That was four hours ago. Renown hadn't heard a peep the entire time, which was worrying, because normally a repair ship at work produced machinery noises.

Finally, the door opened, and Renown practically teleported in front of Resource. "What's the verdict?" she demanded.

"I think she should be condemned," Resource bluntly stated. "She has severe metal fatigue, her wiring is substandard, her guns are completely inadequate for accurate shooting, and her engineering compartments are basically a demilitarized zone."

Renown blinked. "That was a reference, wasn't it?"

"It was. It's also not the point. The _point_ is, Repulse has fucked herself harder than Sendai when she was posted up in Norway. Her structural strength is sufficiently shot that I've had to immobilize her, half her electrical and hydraulic machinery is busted and the other half has been desperately jury-rigged back into a semblance of working order, her steam machinery is only marginally better off, and frankly, I'm amazed she hasn't collapsed into a heap two weeks ago. And then there's the superglue in her structure."

Why was that a- ah.

"You need to get it out," Renown stated.

"I need to get it out," Resource agreed. "Which basically doubles the amount of work I need to do on her before ever getting her into the docks." Her hand met her face, and a frustrated groan spilled out from between the fingers. "Admiral Collingwood's going to be _pissed_ when I tell him Repulse is going to be out of action for six months. At least. With half of that tying me up."

"Couldn't you just use a repair bucket?" Renown asked, a little desperately.

"We need to conserve those," Resource immediately countered. "Who knows when we'll need them?"

Something about that didn't ring true with Renown, and she expressed the first thought that came to mind.

"My sister is lying in there in pieces _right now!"_ she snapped, jabbing a finger at the door. "And is one repair bucket really worth more than actually having you and Repulse in the field for a combined _nine months?!"  
_  
"We need to conserve!" Resource snapped right back. And to Renown's horror, when she looked into the repair ship's eyes they were swirling with madness.

Right there, she knew she wouldn't be letting Resource's own stress impact her sister _and_ the entire fleet.

"Well, let's see how many you have!" she declared, before marching into the repair shop. Resource, probably sensing that trying to stop the battlecruiser was futile, trailed along, glaring at Renown's back the entire time.

As the two walked past, Repulse gave a wave from the table she was strapped to. "Hey sis!"

"Don't you start." Finding the buckets was a simple matter of finding the crate labelled "Repair buckets", and she made a beeline for them. "Now, behind door number 1..."

"Stop!" Resource wailed. Her hands wrapped around Renown's waist in a vain attempt to stop the battlecruiser. Horsepower won out, and Renown shoved the top off the crate to reveal repair buckets.

Lots and lots of repair buckets.

Repair buckets enough that the crate lid probably wouldn't fit on it anymore sometime soon.

"How many of these do you have?" Renown breathed. "There's enough here to repair half the fleet in one go!"

"Conserve!"

Sighing, Renown smacked Resource upside the head, the repair ship falling unconscious. She then removed a repair bucket and dumped it over Repulse, who swiftly snapped her bonds and stood.

"Thanks, sis!"

"Don't thank me. We need to tell all this to Admiral Collingwood. We do not want our repair ship to become a hoarder."

"Oh. Joybunnies."


	225. Rule 2734

**Rule 2734. Ramming is a last resort, don't ram an abyssal ship just because you're getting tired of calculating range and angling your guns.**

Tone and Chikuma were unusual among Japan's heavy cruisers - and heavy cruisers in general - in rarely fighting surface actions. Though doctrine had been modified to let the fleet carriers do their own damn scouting, thank you very much, that same change in doctrine had the carriers largely scouting for their _own_ strike options. That left the battleships relying on their own seaplanes for scouting. Not the worst thing in the world, honestly, but attaching Tone and Chikuma to the battle line granted significant and useful extra capability in that regard.

Also, rarely did not mean _never_.

Tone felt her teeth grinding together as another salvo fell wide of the Abyssal light forces attacking the battleships. The damn things simply would not stay still, she was out of practice, and there was _so much calculation and_ _ **fucking turret elevation AND HER HEAD WAS GOING TO EXPLODE AND-  
**_  
"GRAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Tone roared, suddenly breaking from the line and sprinting straight at the Abyssals. The battleships all blinked at the sight, especially when Chikuma let out a wail and followed after her.

"What was that about?" Yamato wondered.

"I don't know..." Mutsu replied.

In her mad rush, Tone quickly picked out a target: a clearly high-level Ru-class that had been exchanging shots with Musashi to so far little effect to either, flanked by two light cruisers and a pack of destroyers. None had deigned to notice her, which only further raised Tone's fury. It was also a fatal mistake. Torpedoes leapt from her tubes, speeding towards a rendezvous with the Abyssals, and achieved several hits, sending four destroyers to the bottom immediately, crippling one of the cruisers, and leaving one last destroyer wallowing helpless in the water.

That last light cruiser might have been a problem had several 8" shells not slammed into it, leaving Tone free to ignore it. And ignore it she did, bearing down on the battleship, which only now realized the problem. Well. "Problem". Tone was still a heavy cruiser going up against a battleship with no torpedoes.

Still, with the Abyssal's ongoing gunnery duel with Musashi, distractions could not be tolerated, and so the battleship turned her guns on Tone, and fired.

The sound of shells hitting flesh was just barely audible over the roar of her own guns, and the Ru-class smirked and turned back to Musashi.

So when Tone _still_ came charging in, despite the bleeding wounds in her body, the Ru-class didn't react in time before Tone's head met the battleship's skull.

"Fall-" WHAM! "Down-" WHAM! "You-" WHAM! "Stupid-" WHAM! "Battleship!" WHAM!

Head spinning and blood flowing freely from her forehead, Tone took a step back, warily eyeing the battleship. Said battleship remained on its feet - and then promptly toppled over like a great tree. A sigh of relief poured out of Tone's throat at the sight, and she turned to where Chikuma was speeding up to her.

"You're alive!" Chikuma wailed happily, practically diving into Tone's arms.

"Yeah... but, uh, I'm feeling super dizzy and stuff, and I think I'm gonna pass out, so..."

And the heavy cruiser did just that. Chikuma blinked, then held her sister up and shook her a bit. "Tone?" The heavy cruiser flopped bonelessly, prompting Chikuma to try again. "Sister?!" Still no response. "Sisteeeeeeeeerrrrrrrr!"


	226. Rule 2737

**Rule 2737. Swordfish are not to be used as actual swords, not only is it annoying, it's a waste of food. And we all know how Akagi hates that.  
**  
Akagi gritted her teeth as branches, leaves, fronds, and god knows what else batted at her face and chest and arms, and the urge to just stop was strong. Several 8" shells that sailed past her and neatly demolished several trees reminded her why she was running. Spinning on her heel, she let loose a salvo from her casemated 8" guns and then resumed running. It was this pattern that had persisted for the past half-hour of chase through this god-forsaken jungle island that she, along with Ise, the Abyssals chasing her, a random Wo-class, and the airship girl Canton, had all ended up on.

Suddenly, Akagi burst into a bright clearing, promptly stumbling over a root in her shock. By the time she was back on her feet, the two Ne-class that had been chasing her had their guns not two feet from her face and were grinning happily.

[Finally cornered you,] one of them panted. [Now stay still... and we'll make this as painless as possible.]

[Speak for yourself, I'm gonna drag this out!] the other snapped.

Akagi grimaced, eyes shooting all over the clearing looking for something she could use to get out of this mess. She didn't find anything like that. Instead, her eyes locked onto a massive water wheel rolling by, Ise, Canton, and that Wo all jockeying for position and clashing- swordfish?!

"Those food-wasting bitches!" Akagi roared, before taking off after the water wheel. The two Ne-class did nothing to stop her, for they were too busy gaping at the sight.

~o~

Let's rewind a bit. About thirty minutes ago, Ise hauled herself onto the shore of a tropical island, gasping for air.

"Oh... that sucked..." she groaned. "Never thought I'd survive my second sinking..." Frowning at an odd weight in her left hand, she lifted up the appendage to find it gripping a large swordfish by the tail. "Huh."

Suddenly, another figure splashed up next to her. Ise glanced to the left, finding Woe gasping for breath as well, a swordfish also in her hand.

And then an American-accented scream prompted both to look up, where they saw airship girl Canton come careening out of the clouds to crash into the trees.

Ise took this opportunity to clamber on shore and bolt for cover. Crazy though she was, sticking around to fight _those_ two was a bad idea on several levels. Unfortunately, she was slower than both of them, and by the time she reached a clearing holding an old mill Canton and Woe had caught up and were brandishing swordfish at her, too. Which was odd, and not only the question of where Canton had gotten her fish.

"Oh!" Ise realized as she slapped her fist into her palm. "All your long-range weapons are gone!" From the sudden inability of her opponents to look her in the eye, Ise figured she'd hit the nail on the head. Grinning, she brandished her swordfish. "And now the odds are even."

Woe and Canton exchanged a look. "Wanna team up?"

[Sure. This doesn't mean I won't stab you at the first opportunity.]

"Deal."

"Aw, come on!" Ise whined.

Back to the present, Ise blocked a stab form Canton, bringing her boot down on Woe's head at the same time.

Suddenly, a shout of "YOU'RE WASTING FOOD!" brought everything to a halt. All three combatants turned towards the source and paled at the expression on Akagi's face. A boot lashed out, and Canton was pitched off the wheel, staring up at Woe.

"Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!" the airship girl wailed as Akagi descended upon her. The following was sufficiently gruesome that both Woe and Ise looked away.

[Well, this was fun, but I'd better go now,] Woe suddenly said.

"You think I'll let you?" Ise demanded.

[Well, no, but if we're going the same way I don't need to outrun Akagi. I just need to outrun _you._ ]

Ise considered that. And then she turned around and began jogging away from Woe.

[Thought so.]


	227. Rule 2738

**Rule 2738. No more bets on fugu.**

Asama Maru slowly, and very carefully, drew her knife along the body of the fish she was preparing. Said fish was fugu, the pufferfish that had gained notoriety outside of Japan for its toxicity. Too much of the fish would kill you by means paralysis and then suffocation. And there was no cure for the toxin. You had your stomach pumped and then stuffed full of activated charcoal, and then you went on life support until you either died or got over it.

The only way to avoid that gruesome death was by very, very careful preparation. Sometimes that meant special ways of cooking that reduced the toxicity. More often it was simply not consuming too much of the fish. And while nobody knew what would happen to a shipgirl poisoned by the stuff, nobody was in any particular hurry to find out, either. The only one who ate the stuff with any kind of regularity was Akagi, and the restaurant she went to hadn't had _anyone_ poisoned in nearly twenty years of operation.

Until today, when Hosho burst into her quarters frantically looking for someone, _anyone_ who could prepare proper fugu. Apparently, the Akizuki sisters had been appalled that Suzutsuki not only remained a staunch pescatarian, but a bland and dull pescatarian. Pumpkin featured heavily in her diet, apparently.

As such, her sisters had taken it upon themselves to get her to try stuff with more flavor, and fugu had come up for some godforsaken reason. So now the passenger liner was in Hosho's kitchen, trying desperately to keep her hand steady with an unfamiliar and highly specialized knife.

"Fins are ready!" Hosho called out. The carrier was busy grilling up the roe while also preparing a salad, called yubiki, that utilized the skin.

"On it!" Asama Maru barked. The fins were removed, placed in a dish, and then drenched in hot sake, at which point they joined the cut sashimi on a tray Asama Maru carried out.

"Alright, we've got sashimi and fins in hot sake," she announced. "The other dishes'll be out soon. Enjoy!"

"Wow, it's so pretty!" was what Asama Maru heard as she turned back to the kitchen, and she smiled.

It was matched by one from Hosho when she returned to the kitchen. "Here. Roe and skin," she said, passing over the dishes. "Going well?"

"Yup!" Asama Maru chirped as she exited again - and quickly had to revise that opinion when she saw the table. "Nope! Terribly! It's going terribly!"

Hosho quickly pocked her head out, and screamed a little at the sight of all four destroyers locked in place, paralyzed. To their immense relief, though, they were breathing, albeit in a roaring, mechanical way.

Panic was further assuaged when a fairy clambered onto Teruzuki's shoulder, glaring up at them. "DEEEEEEEESSSSSSSUUUUUU!" it shouted angrily at them.

"Sorry, sorry!" Asama Maru apologized, bowing alongside Hosho. "Uh, what do we need to do?"

The fairy assumed a thoughtful expression - one that was suddenly broken as its jaw dropped at what must have been a stunning sight.

And indeed, standing at the table was Akagi, happily munching on the food still there.

"Mm, fugu..." she moaned. "You should've told me you were making some!"

"Nooooo!" Hosho wailed, tackling the carrier to the ground, sending the tray with its remaining fish flying. Asama Maru, for her part, just sighed and left to go find Akashi.

~o~

"Well, they're lucky their boilers have forced draft," Akashi reported. All four of the Akizuki's were in bed, their fairy crews steadily flushing out the toxins.

It was not a pretty sight.

"So when everything shut down their fairies were able to override at least that and keep them alive. As for Akagi..." The repair ship flipped a page on her pad. "Yeah, I got nothing. As far as I can tell, she's completely immune, considering she ate the liver and ovaries of that fish you guys prepared."

"I told you!" Akagi said.

"But... how?" Asama Maru wondered.

Akashi shrugged. "No idea. I expect she'll be the only one allowed to eat fugu going forward."


	228. Rule 2745

**Rule 2745. The Annual Inter-Navy Food Festival has been put on temporary hold once we get the... participants lessons on proper food handling procedures.**

The first Annual Inter-Navy Food Festival had been first conceived after the success of San Diego's frequent barbecues in securing the loyalty of Allied Abyssals and the renown of visiting Japanese shipgirls. That, and the early-war tradition of plying Japanese shipgirls, particularly the Akizuki-class, with food anytime they set foot on American soil.

With that in mind, Halifax had been chosen as a good neutral ground, and shipgirls from every navy were invited to participate. And boy did they respond to the call. Practically every French and Italian shipgirl light cruiser tonnage or above - and quite a few below it - had joined in, alongside dozens of American, Japanese, and Russian shipgirls. Even Turkey, Greece, and Argentina had a shipgirl in the festival! Only Great Britain was underrepresented, mostly because the French had quit vigorously - and successfully - argued that most British high cuisine ripped off French, something nobody had been able to deny. The only Brit involved was Titanic, who as an old liner had been basically grandfathered in.

Now the event was underway - and the more professional cooks in the bunch were about ready to tear their hair out.

~o~

"What are you doing?!" Vittorio Veneto demanded. Abruzzi paused in opening a large can that was visibly swollen, and cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm making marinara sauce. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Leaving aside the fact that you're using canned tomatoes," the battleship groaned, holding her head in her hands. "It's _swollen,_ you dingus. You know what that means, right?"

There were several seconds wherein the only sound was the hubbub of cooking around them.

"I don't know. Should I?" Abruzzi finally replied.

Screeching in anger, Vittorio Veneto grabbed one of the cans and hurled it at the cruiser's head.

~o~

Chop, chop.

"Cutting board."

"Here."

Chop, chop.

"Cutting board, please."

"Heading your way."

Chop, chop.

"Cutting board, stat!"

"Oh for God's sake!" Veinticinco de Mayo finally snapped, jabbing a finger at the Russian and German shipgirls around her. "Sanitize the damn cutting boards before passing them around! You'll contaminate the meat!"

"That takes too long," Voroshilov said dismissively. "Besides, what's the worst that could-"

"Do I need to stab a bitch?" the Argentinian cruiser snarled. "Because I'm beginning to think I need to stab a _lot_ of bitches."

~o~

"What is this?!" Titanic roared, holding up a cutting board with strips of beef sitting on top of fresh asparagus - both uncooked. He got no answer. "Oh, come on, you donkeys can't possibly be _this_ stupid. C'mon, tell me what the _fuck_ this is!"

Finally, a shaky hand rose out of the crowd of French shipgirls. "Uh, a cross-contamination hazard?" Emile Bertin offered.

"Oh, thank God you lot have at least _one_ working brain between you. This-" He gave the cutting board a shake. "Is a goddamn health hazard." And with that, he dumped the food into the nearest garbage bin, to a despairing wail from Tourville. "Start over. And sanitize that damn board first, for fuck's sake."

As the French shipgirls scurried away, the liner heaved a weary sigh and turned to walk back to his station and actually start his fucking meal. But he hadn't gone two steps before he saw Chicago bring out several steaks - steaks that did not look right to his eyes. Coming closer, he eyed them, picked them up - and then he whistled in Chicago's direction.

"Hey! You!" he snapped, prompting Chicago to point at herself. "Yes, you! Get over here!"

Chicago did so, and once she was a few feet away, Titanic grabbed the steak, held it up - and then hurled it onto the tray with a loud clatter.

"This is raw!" he roared. "Raw!"

"I-I'll fix it!" Chicago stammered, grabbing the tray of steaks and scurrying away.

~o~

"How can we be out of meat?!" Texas roared. "We haven't even served anything yet!"

~o~

Mamiya looked over her audience, all of them shame-faced and unable to look anyone in the eye. Yup. They were ready to learn. Learning that an entire food festival had been postponed a month entirely due to your own screwups will do that.

"Alright, I have a month to drub proper food safety into you all," she announced, getting a round of flinches. "That _should_ be enough time. It's enough time for the younger destroyers. Unless you lot are the biggest dunderheads to ever set foot in a kitchen." She paused, letting that sink in. "Alright, let's get started!"


	229. Rule 2747

**Rule 2747. U-boats do not carry Nazi gold, and even if they did tickling won't make them give you it.**

"Eheheheheheh..." South Dakota giggled as the download progress bar on her computer slowly creeped upward. "Come to mama..."

After being put on probation for the rocket stunt in Mexico, South Dakota had rapidly found herself at her wit's end. Even the US rarely had a target that merited a fast battleship like her, and they'd been doing just fine with eight for months. Training could only do so much, too. She'd been doing that during her mad scientist days, after all.

Steam filled that hole, and South Dakota had bought a _lot_ of games over the past month. Most were crap, and she'd left strongly-worded reviews on the developers' pages. Many were good enough to sink many hours into. Portal and One Finger Death Punch were basically platonic ideals of video gaming.

But, of course, Steam was Gabe Newell's best money-sucking device, and it was very, very good at its job. Especially against someone who normally didn't need to worry about how much money she was spending.

While the games downloaded, South Dakota made the fateful decision to check on a few things she'd been putting off, one of which was her bank account. To her shock, the balance for the checking portion was in the triple digits.

"What!" she yelped, frantically clicking into her transaction history. "How did- oh." There, staring at her, judging her, was every Steam purchase she'd made over the last month. "Right. Curse you, Gabe Newell!"

Obligatory oath out of the way, South Dakota sat back and had a good, long think about how to improve her finances. Hacking into her own investment accounts and liquidating them would solve the problem, but create many new ones, even if no one noticed the intrusion. Hacking into someone _else's_ accounts solved the long-term financial problems, but increased the risk of getting caught and was decidedly unethical, besides. She could take a break from buying- pffhahahahahahaha.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to her. A very good one. It was time for a trip to Argentina!

~o~

"Oh, that would be U-977 and U-530 that came here," La Argentina replied. "Such nice girls! Both of them were so happy to be out of that awful war. And then their crews were taken and interrogated! Those poor dears!"

"Mm mmph," South Dakota responded. Several chunks of Argentinian beef prevented anything more coherent as a response.

"They didn't have any gold, though."

At that, South Dakota rolled her eyes. Of _course_ they had gold. And they wouldn't just _show it_ _off._ Thievery 101, that. Still, she'd gotten a good meal and the specific subs out of the trip, so it was worth it. Now, to Germany!

~o~

U-47 frowned at the reports she had in hand, hoping they weren't saying what she thought they were. The last thing they needed right now was another Abyssal attack on Iceland. Flipping a paper over, she continued walking, past a knot of U-boats clustered at a door, from which emanated much laughter, moving furniture, and seemingly-lewd comments.

"Enjoying that, huh? Well, then, what about _this?"  
_  
"Bahahaha, n-no, s-stop!"

Wait a minute.

The submarine came to a halt, and then skittered backward so that she could properly take in the scene she'd blown right past. About half a dozen subs were clustered around that door, all with their ears pressed to it and luminescent blushes on their faces. However, to U-47's more experienced ear, the sounds coming from the room were _not_ lewd. Inappropriate, sure, but it was likely there was a perfectly innocent explanation for what was going on.

But just in case...

"I'll handle this," she declared, causing the other subs to jump, yelp at the sight of her, and scatter every which way.

With them out of the way, U-47 was free to simply open the door, as it wasn't locked. Amateur mistake, that.

Now, of all the things she expected to find, some sort of tickle-fest was actually pretty high on the list. The participants, on the other hand, were a complete surprise. What was _South Dakota_ doing here? And her sudden shout of "COUGH UP THE DAMN GOLD ALREADY!" was entirely out of left field.

"The fuck...?" she breathed.

South Dakota paused, and seemed to consider what the scene looked like. With her hands under the sides of U-530's wetsuit and both she and U-977 sweaty and red-faced, the scene looked very wrong indeed.

"This isn't what it looks like," she said, her expression souring immediately. Why had she said _that_ , the most cliche of all lines?!

And U-47 very visibly wasn't amused. "They were _not_ carrying Nazi gold," she snapped. "And even if they were, that doesn't give you the right to barge in here and try and _tickle_ it out of them, of all things! What on Earth made you think _that_ would work?!"

South Dakota had nothing to say to that.


	230. Rule 2751

**Rule 2751. Never take kotatsu from the enemy. Ever.  
**  
"Five hundred euros?!" Bismarck roared. The urge to put her mouse through the screen of her computer flared, but she managed to shove it down. Then she checked the shipping costs and the fury rose again. "200-euro shipping?!"

"Well, what do you expect?" Gneisenau remarked. "We still haven't been able to clear the shipping lanes to East Asia, and China's being pissy about overland shipping and licensing. So it's either by air or by ship east through Panama, both of which are expensive and for things more important than some leg-warming table."

"It's called a _kotatsu_ , and you clearly don't understand its power!" Huffing, Bismarck turned and glared at Gneisenau. "It's a device that can subdue even the mightiest of shipgirls! It-"

"It's a heated table, Bismarck."

"Look, the point is, it's the perfect Christmas present for Tirpitz. And before you ask, I asked about getting one from the Japanese shipgirls."

~o~

 _"We only have so many kotatsu on base," U-511 informed her. "So you'll only get one of ours by prying it out of someone's warm, dead fingers!"_

 _For a long moment, that declaration hung in the air. "So, that's a no?"_

 _The call cut off, though it lacked the satisfied slam of an old-school landline._

~o~

Bismarck grimaced. "They said no."

"Yeah, well, you're not getting much help from me," Gneisenau said, walking away. "Good luck in your quest."

With the other battleship gone, Bismarck set to thinking about the problem. Where to get a kotatsu, on the other side of the planet from Japan? It's not like they could just take one from the enemy-

Hang on. Memories flooded back of Hoppo-chan arriving in Yokosuka with several kotatsu stuffed in her cargo spaces. They _did_ have kotatsu! And happy day, there were a ton of cold-weather Abyssals right off the usual routes. Standing, she headed for her room, where her rigging rested. She had some Abyssals to hunt!

~o~

Four heavy cruiser, two Ne-class and two Ri-class, sighed contentedly and snuggled a little deeper into their kotatsu. The device was a reward for them bagging a large number of civilian ships, ships the cruisers had pointedly _not_ mentioned were primarily Chinese fishing boats that had been stupid enough to venture into Abyssal waters. Worth it, though, for this comfy kotatsu.

"Nice kotatsu," a mysterious voice said. "I think I'll take it."

Immediately, all four cruisers leapt to their feet, ready to defend their kotatsu- and then all four of them were forced to clench their bowels at the sight of a fully-armed Bismarck, a shipgirl who would eat them all for breakfast even at _long_ range, let alone punching range. There was an expectant expression on her face, but her hands were twitching towards her rigging, and no matter how painful it was the Abyssals knew what they had to do.

Gritting her teeth, one of the Ne-class bent over, picked up the kotatsu, and handed it over. Bismarck beamed, and said, "Thank you!" as she stowed it.

The battleship didn't stick around after that, turning and steaming back towards Germany. Once she was out of sight, one of the Ri-class spoke up.

[We're getting that back, right?] she said.

[Of course,] the Ne-class that had given up the kotatsu said. [And we're not doing it alone! The Submarine Empress has been looking for an excuse to go on the offensive. Drum up support, and we can give her that excuse!]

[Aye!] the other three heavy cruisers barked.

~o~

Revenge audibly gulped in a rare show of nerves. Wouldn't _you_ be nervous if what seemed like every Abyssal in the North Atlantic was marching towards you with murder in your eyes? Suddenly, the eight battleships and the swarm of rusty and obsolete cruisers and destroyers they had didn't feel nearly enough.

"And here I was so happy about my modernization," Barham muttered.

"Please tell me we have reinforcements on the way," Vanguard whimpered.

 _"Hon hon hon!"_ an obnoxiously French voice cackled over the radio. _"Never fear, Britain! We shall be there in two hours!"_ And with that, the voice cut off.

For a moment, the British battleships were silent. And then Resolution slumped over.

"We're doomed."

"Honestly, I think I'd prefer death to being rescued by _those_ two..." Malaya muttered.

"Oh, come on!" Revenge barked, spinning around to face the short battle line. "Did the Royal Navy give up when the Dutch sailed up the Thames and made off with their own flagship? Did they give up when Tourville forced them out of the Channel, or when De Grasse shoved them out of the Chesapeake? Did they give up when Camperdown sent Victoria to the bottom of the Med?" A determined scowl developed on her face. "No! They rolled up their sleeves, assessed the damage, and then _did better!"_ A pause. "They also executed a few admirals, but that's beside the point! The point is, the Royal Navy does _not_ give up just because the going's gotten tough! They-!"

BOOM!

"Worgh!"

Suddenly, Revenge was blanketed by a hail of shells that obscured her in smoke and water. Some of the battleships were left stunned; others, notably Vanguard, screamed, the eldest battleship sprinting to where Revenge had been. The water and smoke cleared just in time for Vanguard to skid under Revenge and catch her, the battleship unmoving.

That left six to confront the massive fleet - except that fleet had come to the halt, and a Ta-class was steaming up to them. Royal Oak twitched, her gun turrets tracking the approaching Abyssal, only for a shell to sail right past her ear. Any idea to shoot the approaching battleship died swiftly.

Once the Ta-class was about 10,000 yards away, she came to a halt, and pulled out a megaphone. [Attention Channel Fleet!] she announced. [Our quarrel is not with you today! Stand aside, and we'll let you live!]

The battleships all glanced at each other, and then Royal Oak held up a finger. "One moment please." And with that, the line fell into a huddle.

"Okay, we're taking that offer, right?" Royal Oak whispered.

"Duh. I don't wanna die," Barham answered.

"Well, I mean, if they're not going after Britain..." Ramillies agreed.

"Shouldn't we ask _who_ they're going after before we agree to this?" Malaya cut in, one eyebrow raised.

"She's got a point," Royal Sovereign pointed out. "If it's the poor helpless Netherlands, then I think we need to stand and fight. But if it's, say, the Frogs..."

"I agree with those two," Resolution said.

Nods came from all around the huddle, and they broke to face the battleship.

"Who _is_ your target, then?" Royal Oak demanded.

[Bismarck stole something from us!] the Abyssal declared. [And we are going to Germany to punish them and get it back!]

More glances were exchanged, and then the battleships stepped aside.

[Many thanks.]

As the Abyssal fleet flowed around them, the British battleships sent a prayer to Germany for them to get help in this dark time.


	231. Rule 2754

**Rule 2754. Thou shalt not awaken Tenryuu before 10am the day after she's had the kindergarden. -Tatsuta's DC fairies (translated)**

When Tatsuta opened the door to her sister's room that morning, she was greeted with the heretofore unseen sight of Desdiv 6 running around making breakfast in Tenryuu's little kitchenette. Akatsuki was intently eyeing the coffee maker, muttering under her breath about something; Ikazuchi was happily frying up two eggs and some American breakfast sausages; Inazuma had set about making a simple lettuce salad; and Hibiki was giving the toaster as much attention as Akatsuki the coffee machine, minus the muttering.

Oh, and Tenryuu was nowhere to be found. Tatsuta glanced at her watch, noting that it was 9:30. Tsk tsk, sister.

"Good morning, girls," she announced. To her surprise, all four flinched, though none of them disturbed their work.

"Good morning, Auntie Tatsuta," they chorused, prompting the cruiser to blush and clutch her face. So cute!

Still, she needed to know about her sister, who really should know better than to sleep in so much. "So, what's the occasion?" she asked. "And where's Tenryuu?"

"Tenryuu's still asleep, nanodesu," Inazuma answered. "And this is..." The destroyer grimaced. It was adorable. "Well, we kinda sorta maybe were a bunch of little brats last night, nanodesu."

"Let's not sugarcoat it, we were little monsters," Ikazuchi cut in. "So! We're letting Tenryuu sleep in, and we're making her breakfast."

Tatsuta blinked. "What did you girls _do?"  
_  
Another full-division round of flinches. "Please don't ask us that," Hibiki pleaded in deadpan.

Curiosity and self-preservation dueled in Tatsuta's mind, and self-preservation won out by providing a distraction: namely, Akatsuki's ongoing muttering near the coffee machine. Inazuma and Hibiki followed her gaze and sighed - right as Akatsuki's mutterings briefly rose into a shout.

"- FUCKING STUPID-ASS PROLAPSED RECTUM OF A COFFEE-"

And just like that, it went back to mutterings.

"She keeps _doing that,"_ Hibiki whined.

At this point, self-preservation once again intervened to protect Tatsuta's sanity by steering her back to her original course.

"Well, it's lovely that you're doing all this, girls," Tatsuta said. "And I think Tenryuu should be awake so she can properly appreciate this."

With her back now to the destroyers, she didn't see the sudden panic that flashed across _all_ their faces. "Wait, that's not a good idea, nanodesu!" Inazuma shouted, but it was too late. Tatsuta had opened the door to Tenryuu's bedroom by then.

 _"Oh, sister~"_ they heard, followed by the thump of flesh on flesh and the breath whooshing out of someone's gut. This was followed by more thumps, exclamations and grunts of pain, and thudding sounds similar to padded bone hitting wood. Then the noises stopped, followed by Tatsuta saying _"Ah, Tenryuu, what are you-"  
_  
Snap.

 _"YAAAAAAARGH!"  
_  
After that scream, the beatings continued, the destroyers listening in horrified fascination. Finally, after nearly two minutes of the auditorized carnage, the door swung open and spat out a bleeding lump of flesh covered in blood and the tattered remains of a dress.

And, incongruously, the toast picked that moment to pop out of the toaster.

Sighing, Hibiki said, "If someone could butter that, I'll go call Akashi..."


	232. Rule 2757

**Rule 2757. No Pola. Stop giving destroyers wine and try to pass it off as grape juice.  
**  
Pola eyed the bottle of wine in her hands. Certainly, she appreciated people sending it to her, but she also preferred actually good wine. Not this... what was the American term? Oh, yes, "bum wine" swill. Sighing, she strode over to a closet and opened it up to stow it away with all the _other_ similar bottles she'd gotten.

After a few minutes, she came to the dispiriting conclusion that there was no way she was fitting another bottle into the cabinet. Now what?

 _'I gotta get rid of this somehow,'_ she thought. _'But after last time, no one's coming to another one of my drinking parties, so that's out. And I am_ not _re-gifting.'_ Straining her brain, a solution failed to present itself, and so she turned to her tried and true method of inspiration: breaking open a fresh bottle of grappe.

And sure enough, halfway through the bottle, inspiration hit. She grabbed the bottle of bum wine, and then staggered out of her room, intent on finding a convenience store where she could buy some of those little plastic sippy-cups.

~o~

Leone Pancaldo, of the Navigatori-class and thus gifted with rather more maturity than most Italian destroyers, suspiciously eyed the iced pitcher full of an odd red liquid sitting on a table in the corridor she was in, a stack of plastic cups to one side and a piece of paper taped to the front with "Grape juice" crudely scribbled on it completing the picture.

With great care, she poured a cup of the stuff and lifted it up to her nose, giving it a sniff. She immediately recoiled. Yup, wine. Bad wine, in fact. Though, she mused as she glanced around at the unconscious destroyers sprawled all around her, that was not a difficult deduction to make.

Sighing, she turned towards the hole in the wall, and to Roma, who was staring out of it.

"Definitely wine in that pitcher," she reported. "Probably Pola, obviously. As for the hole, well... who knew Ugolino Vivaldi would have that kind of a reaction to alcohol?"

For a long moment, Roma was silent. And then she turned around, pinning Pancaldo with a scalding glare.

"Find. Your sister," she growled. "I'll handle Pola."

Pancaldo didn't reply in favor of letting her jaw drop, and Roma turned around to find a mushroom cloud rising above the horizon in the distance, in the direction of Malta.

~o~

Over on that island, wreathed by smoke and flame, two beings of immeasurable power faced off against each other. One was the Island Siege Empress, one of two Empress-class Abyssals and one of the strongest beings on the planet. Her guns and aircraft could fend off entire fleets, and that was before counting the large battlefleet she maintained on the island. She was an impregnable fortress that had repulsed multiple shipgirl assaults.

And the other was a drunken destroyer. And not even a powerful one. For all that the Navigatori-class were some of Italy's largest and most powerful destroyers, they compared unfavorably to a number of other ships in their weight class, most notably the American Porter and Somers classes, the British Tribals, and the Japanese special-type destroyers. By all rights, she should not have been able to stand up to the Empress for even ten seconds. How? How did she do it?

It was a question that did _not_ plague the Empress' mind, since she could see the tell-tale movements of the drunken fist. How an Italian destroyer knew the drunken fist was a whole other question, but it was irrelevant to the current situation and something the Empress wasn't particularly inclined to think about anyway.

In any case, now that she knew what was going on, the counter was obvious. The Empress charged the destroyer, unleashing a raging haymaker. As expected, the destroyer swayed out of the way and unleashed a flurry of punches. "Atatatatatatatatatatatatata!"

But she was an _Empress_ ; now that she could see it coming, it was child's play to block the blows and then kick the destroyer in the chin, knocking her out. Once she was sure that the destroyer wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, she raised a hand and snapped her fingers. One of the new missile cruisers flashed next to her shortly afterward.

[You called for me, mistress?]

[Get this destroyer back to the Italians, if you will,] the Island Siege Empress ordered. [I'd rather not have to deal with an attack right now.]

[By your command.]

[Oh, and find some way to express my _displeasure_ at the intrusion.]

A smile crossed the cruiser's face. [With pleasure, mistress.]

Island Siege Empress blushed. [Oy. Don't call me mistress.]

[Yes, mistress.]

The blush intensified, and the installation waved her subordinate off. [Just... complete the mission, okay?] Mercifully, the cruiser took that as her cue to leave.

~o~

Roma eyed the missile embedded in the headquarters building, Vivaldi slung underneath it snoring her lungs out, and felt the urge to cry. Why did she have to handle this shit! Why couldn't the damn navy get off their asses and find them a proper _admiral_ already?!


	233. Rule 2761

**Rule 2761. Just because the US used bacon** **drippings** **to make explosives during WW2 doesn't mean that you can do so again and use "Death smells of bacon" as a warcry!  
**  
Wright eyed South Dakota, or more specifically, her disheveled appearance, the bags under her eyes, and the wild insanity within said eyes. She also had to resist the urge to hold her nose; the battleship, and indeed, her entire room, reeked of stale sweat, general body odor, and god knows what else.

"Alright, aside from the U-boat tickling incident-" And good God she still couldn't quite believe that was a thing. "You've held up your probation. And the Germans reported that that was mostly you going stir-crazy. So you're good to return to your lab!"

"Yes!" South Dakota crowed. "Lemme just take a shower! Oh, I hope some of the experiments haven't escaped."

Wright hitched slightly in leaving, but didn't stop. Let South Dakota handle that. Yes. Let the mad battleship clean up her own messes. Though it wouldn't hurt to send out a bulletin to avoid the labs for the rest of the day. Or the next week. Or forever.

In any case, her next stop was at Phoenix's room. Phoenix had been even quieter than South Dakota, and that worried her just a tad. After all, the cruiser was even _less_ subtle than her partner. The lack of explosions was surprising, and as stated earlier, a little worrying.

That worry escalated up to _major_ when Wright tried the door and failed to budge the handle. Grimacing, she reached up to knock, only for the door to swing in and Phoenix to walk right into her, knocking them both to the floor. Idly, Wright noted that she smelled of bacon. Like, _really_ smelled of bacon.

"Ow..." Phoenix groaned as she pulled herself up. "Ah, shoot! Sorry about that, Wright!"

"No problem," the light carrier grunted. "Anyway, I'm here to do one final check before you get off your probation."

Immediately, Phoenix went from mildly apologetic to sweat-faced panic.

"Great," Wright sighed. "Alright, what have you been working on?" She frowned. "Also, what's with the bacon smell?"

"Absolutely nothing!" Phoenix yelped. "And I was cooking it for breakfast."

Given the fact that it was two in the afternoon and the strength of the bacon smell, Wright seriously doubted that.

"Then you won't mind if I take a look, would you?" she said, muscling past Phoenix and stepping in.

"Wait!" the cruiser wailed, but it was too late. Wright was in the room already, taking in the sight of several 55-gallon steel drums standing scattered about stuffed full of what looked like _bacon drippings.  
_  
For a moment, the carrier was left utterly confused. And then she remembered a forum post on Kanmusu Online detailing how the Allies had used bacon drippings to manufacture explosives. Slowly, she turned a flat, unimpressed look on Phoenix. "Really?" she deadpanned.

"I'm sooorrrryyyy!" Phoenix wailed, falling down to clutch at Wright's leg. "I couldn't help myseeeeelllllffff!"

"One more month on probation should do it," Wright noted on her clipboard, to increased wailings from Phoenix. "Now, please tell me you didn't-"

KA-BOOM!

The explosion was sudden and merciless. Though the two shipgirls escaped unscathed, the same could not be said of the room they were in. Nor the barrels of bacon drippings, which were now scattered all over the floor and on fire.

"Finish any," Wright lamely finished. "Right. Two months."

The wails intensified.


	234. Rule 2766

**Rule 2766: Ok, whoever has let Pola try** **habushu,** **step forward and your punishment will ONLY be a sparring match with Zara.**

It was well past noon when Zara parked herself at her sister's door and knocked. Granted, Pola often slept in to manage the hangovers, but noon was the limit, dammit! When she got no answer, she knocked again. Still no answer. She knocked again, harder, shaking the frame. Still no answer.

Now, most people, at this point, would have retreated and waited for Pola to emerge herself, and then grill her mercilessly. Zara was not most people. Her motto was 'tenacity', after all, and when she set herself a task, by god she was going to do it! Pola's door was locked, but it was a very simple lock that was easily picked by a spare hairpin.

Opening the door was like stepping into a sauna. A sauna that reeked of stale alcohol. Why Pola kept her room so warm was something Zara had been meaning to ask, but had put off because she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer. And she wouldn't be asking this time, because Pola, instead of curled up in her bed like normal, was sprawled unconscious on the floor, vomit dripping out of her mouth into the puddle on the floor and swathes of skin an unhealthy shade of blue.

Zara stood there, stunned, until a fairy popped out of Pola and frantically waved its arms. "Ciao!" it declared, waving its arms in a particular direction.

In that direction was a bottle of liquor. Naturally. _This_ bottle, though, was unusual in that it had Japanese-language labels, and that it had a goddamn _snake_ in the bottle, one that appeared to be lunging for the edge. Slowly, Zara stepped up to the bottle, tilted it towards her, and gave a cautious sniff.

A few minutes later, her fairies finished rebooting her brain, and she immediately grabbed the bottle and sprinted for the docks, fumbling for her phone so she could call someone to make sure her sister didn't keel over dead.

~o~

"Well," the human doctor in charge of the docks said as he attempted to decipher his own scrawls. "Bad news first, Pola is still appallingly toxic, and likely will be for the next day. She's in no danger, though." His gaze drifted away from the clipboard and over to Zara, a befuddled expression on his face. "How on earth did she ingest that much pit viper venom, anyway?"

Wordlessly, Zara held up the bottle. The doctor frowned.

"Habushu..." he muttered. "But that wouldn't cause this reaction, unless..." He held out his hand, and Zara handed over the bottle, allowing him to examine it. "Yup. This is amateur hour habushu," he declared after a few minutes. "Mostly from the labels, but if this has the actual venom in it... Yeah. Amateur hour."

Excellent. Now she knew who to blame: that Japanese carrier who dabbled in moonshine and drinking binges with Pola.

"If you'll excuse me, doctor, I have to go place a call to Japan," she growled.

~o~

"Unconscious?!"

 _"Yeah,"_ Hiyo sighed, sounding haggard. _"Junyo got the bright idea to cook up some habushu, and then she somehow mixed it with the venom from the vipers. If I weren't there to call for help, she'd likely be lying in a pool of her own vomit right now."  
_  
Zara shuddered at the memory. "Right... look, when she recovers, just tell her that I want a sparring match, and I'm not going to take no for an answer."

 _"Sure, sure,"_ Hiyo idly replied. _"Look, I need to get back and make sure she doesn't escape and start drinking. You'll have your sparring match."_ And with that, the carrier hung up.

As Zara stole her phone, a smile played across her face that would've sent anyone nearby running for the hills had there been anyone actually nearby.

"Eeeexcellent..."


	235. Rule 2771

**Rule 2771. Whoever took Wreck's scarf:** ** _Give it back. Now.  
_**  
From San Diego's perspective, it all started at around two in the afternoon when a besuited Wreck strolled into the base, grabbed the first shipgirl she'd found (the poor USS Shield), slammed her into a wall, and demanded to know where her scarf was and who had taken it. Her wails that she didn't know drew in fellow destroyers Metcalf and Wiley, who immediately demanded that Wreck let go of Shields. Wreck then turned on them, still demanding to know where her scarf was. They didn't know, either, and their screams alerted a nearby Wisconsin, who dove into the fray to try and separate Wreck from the destroyers.

One punch. And no more Wisconsin. And that leads us up to the current scene.

[THIS WOULD ALL GO A LOT EASIER IF SOMEONE COULD JUST RETURN MY DAMN SCARF!] Wreck roared. Step after step cratered the concrete, leaving behind furrowed tracks from Lexington and Saratoga's feet, and around her was smoke, flame, rubble, and the unconscious forms of several other shipgirls that had tried to stop her.

"Wreck, please, stop!" Saratoga pleaded, though she didn't loosen her grip on one of Wreck's arms in the slightest. "We don't know where it is!"

Lexington was less... diplomatic with her thoughts. "You really think we'd hide this if we knew where it was, you stupid bint?" she demanded.

Growling, Wreck looped her tail around Lexington's waist.

"Aw, fu-"

And with an almighty yank, pulled her off the Abyssal's other arm and tossed her through one of the few intact walls in the area. But before she could go any further, Louisana hopped out of one of the holes and jabbed a finger in Wreck's direction.

"Round two, bitch!"

[ALL OF YOU ARE IN THE WAY!] Wreck fired back. [AND YOU'RE GETTING _OUT_ OF THE WAY, EASY OR HARD!]

And with those words, the two battleships collided like angry planets, Saratoga still hanging on for dear life.

~o~

Over in headquarters, Admiral Holloway winced as that clash sent plaster dust falling down from the ceiling.

"Okay, so we've _confirmed_ that no one on base has her scarf?" he almost pleaded.

"Nope!"

"We've checked everywhere!"

"And we do mean _everywhere."  
_  
Turning away from the Taffies, he gave Wahoo a pleading look. "Is this true?"

"Pretty much," the submarine shrugged.

Finally, he turned to Hornet.

"Nowhere I can find it."

Groaning, Holloway let his head thunk against the desk. "Then who _took it?"  
_  
Nobody had an answer for that. At least, not for a couple of minutes. Then Hoel turned thoughtful.

"Wasn't she visiting an Army base when her scarf got stolen?" she pointed out.

As one, vicious grins spread across the faces of everyone present.

"Excellent," Holloway said. "Wahoo, if you could-"

"Already got it," the submarine replied, holding up the scarf in question. "You want me to put it back?"

"Please," Holloway said. "And Hoel, if you could tell Wreck we know where her scarf is?"

"Aye aye!"

"Awwwwww..."

"Why don't we get to do that?!"

"Because you two are incorrigible and would find some way to piss her off."

"Oh, right."

~o~

Admiral Holloway basked in the panicked screams of Army soldiers as they fled from a rampaging Wreck. So nice to see her inflicted on someone else, and Army, too. It was a soothing balm while his shipgirls patched up the damage the Abyssal had already done.

"Cheers," he declared, before downing a shot of whiskey.


	236. Rule 2776

**Rule 2776. Creation and sales of plushie ship girls - both with and without rigging - are to stop until the admiralty can decide on what to do with the increase of demand.  
**  
"Ara?"

Amagi, Katsuragi, and Kasagi all stiffened at the sound of Unryu's 'ara'. That word held so many meanings with their elder sister - it could mean anything from "Oh dear, I forgot my phone" to "Aliens from Betelgeuse are invading with antimatter weapons to take our water". Most people couldn't tell the difference, but after so much time together the three carriers could tell fairly easily.

This one was fairly low-danger, just a "What the heck?" sort of 'ara'. As such, the trio turned their gaze in the direction Unryu was looking. There, Makigumo was holding a plush doll of Unryu almost as big as she was.

"It's so fluffy I'm gonna die!" she declared.

Slowly, the carriers shifted their gaze to Yuugumo, who met it with a tired gaze and then an equally tired sigh. At once, they knew the situation. No words were needed.

"I wonder where Yuugumo got that plushie," Amagi wondered.

"Someone must be making 'em," Katsuragi pointed out.

"Does it matter?" asked Kasagi. "If someone wants to make plushies of shipgirls, and people want to buy 'em, I don't see the problem."

No sooner had she finished that statement than Kagero marched in, holding a smaller Katsuragi plushie in hand. The carrier in question blushed furiously at that. Kagero was also followed by her sisters. All of them. Each carrying another shipgirl plushie. Including one that was of Kasagi herself. She blushed as well.

"Ara, maybe I should look into this," Unryu remarked.

~o~

Elsewhere in the base, Zuikaku bit her lip and then reached up to knock on Shokaku's door. Her big sister had been holed up in her room for several days, and the other crane was getting worried for her health. And the fact that it took several minutes for Shokaku to reach and open the door didn't help her nerves.

And then the door actually opened.

Shokaku looked _awful_. Her face was drawn and an unhealthy shade of gray, with prominent bags hanging under bloodshot eyes. Her hair was disheveled and visibly greasy, her clothes in a similar state. And then there were her hands, practically mummified in band-aids and trembling with... something.

"What?" Shokaku growled. Another alarm bell went off.

"Uh, hey, sis," Zuikaku nervously said. "So, uh, what have you been doing?"

Shokaku stared at her sister for a long, painful moment, and then turned around. "I don't have time for this," she muttered. "Feel free to take a look, but don't disturb me."

Carefully, Zuikaku followed Shokaku into her room. Her immediate reaction was to sneeze; the air was liberally dusted with loose thread. Plush stuffing was everywhere, as was scraps of cloth and spare needles. But the room was now dominated by a massive work bench, on which was an elaborate sewing kit, a top of the line sewing machine, considerable raw material, and two finished plushies. To Zuikaku's embarrassment, one was of her.

"Wait, you're the one who's making all these plushies?" she exclaimed. Shokaku turned around, needle in hand, and-

Zuikaku promptly collapsed, screaming internally as she clutched at the needle protruding from her forehead. Finally, she got a grip on it, and plucked it out, along with a drop of blood that was followed by a thin stream from her forehead.

"Okay, this is officially out of hand," she muttered, glancing back at Shokaku. The carrier was feverishly sewing and stuffing an additional plushie, this one greatly resembling an I-class destroyer. A shake of her head, and Zuikaku headed out of the room - only to trip on a large stack of papers.

"Owowowowow..."

Said papers turned out to be additional orders, once Zuikaku got a good look at them. A _lot_ of additional orders. Grabbing them, Zuikaku hustled out of the building. She needed to kick this upstairs.

~o~

Several hours later, Shokaku stalked towards the Admiralty offices, muttered imprecations flowing out from her mouth. Those imprecations stopped the moment she opened the door; seeing Admiral Goto _and_ Fubuki staring at her was good at that. Oddly, Inazuma was there, too, squealing over a spreadsheet of some kind.

"Shokaku, welcome," Admiral Goto said. "Please, sit down. We have a lot to talk about."

"Well, then, make it fast," Shokaku growled. "I've got a massive backlog of orders to finish."

"Yeah, about that..." Fubuki said, pulling out a stack of papers that looked famili-

An indeterminate amount of time, an immensely strong smell jolted Shokaku awake. For a moment, she wondered why she was lying on the floor. And then she remembered the stack of orders she'd gotten. Not bothering to stand, she crawled over to Fubuki - Admiral Goto's legs being protected by his desk - and clutched her leg, sending a pleading gaze up at her.

"Help!"

"And that's exactly what we're here for, Shokaku," Admiral Goto kindly replied. "We want to help you figure out a plan to meet the demand for your plushies."

"So many royalties, nanodesu!" Inazuma crowed.

What had been a stern but kindly expression was twisted by a pained grimace. "Among... other considerations, yes. And for now we'll need to discontinue the Abyssal plushies. Allied Abyssals aside, we don't really want civilian opinions softening towards them any further."

"And Nagato would drown herself in Hoppo plushies," Fubuki added.

Desk, meet Admiral Goto's forehead. Again.

"Could you two please let me have my delusion that shipgirl craziness isn't a factor here?"

"Sorry, sir, but I'd rather not have to do your job again," Fubuki replied.

"Royalties!"

Despite herself, Shokaku found herself relaxing. Not because her plushies were in good hands, but because this was just so familiar.


	237. Rule 2778

**New** **Rule 2778. On the heels of the previous rule: No, fission reactors can't explode in nuclear fireballs, they don't work like that. Stop trying to convince the crossroads participants that they do.  
**  
A few miles off the coast of San Luis Obispo, the water was disturbed by three submarine shipgirls breaching the surface. "We're here," USS Seal announced quietly.

"Whoo, finally!" USS Skipjack declared. "Oh, this is gonna be _way_ more fun than deep sea patrols!"

"You and I have very different ideas of fun," USS Stingray grumbled. "But whatever. It is good to get away for a bit. So let's get to our hotel and-"

"OH SHIT!"

Stingray and Seal exchanged a confused look as Skipjack ducked back underwater. Sighing, Stingray steamed over, reached down, and yanked her sister out of the water. "Mind explaining what that was about?"

Shivering, Skipjack pointed a finger towards a point on the shore. Her sisters turned the same direction, and squinted, seeing a building complex of some kind that included two large concrete domes.

"Skipjack," Stingray deadpanned. "Why the _fuck_ are you afraid of a bunch of buildings."

"Uh, I remember there was a nuclear powerplant somewhere around here?" Seal stated.

"Yes!" Skipjack exclaimed. "And this is earthquake country! What if there's an earthquake, and it shakes the nuclear reactors, and that causes a runaway nuclear chain reaction and since its an earthquake all the workers are dead so they can't control anything and then the whole plant goes up in a nuclear fireball?! We'd be dead! Or worse, irradiated!"

For a long moment, the only sound was that of the waves and seagulls overhead.

"That's not how _anything_ works!" Seal finally snapped. Coming from Seal, that was the normal-person equivalent of roared exasperation.

"Let's just get on shore..." Stingray sighed.

~o~

Fubuki sighed and set aside another slice of paper from the suggestion box. Why did everyone keep asking about Casual Friday? After the fiasco with Nagato the _last_ time they'd tried that, they had to know it wasn't going to happen. Especially since _everyone_ knew what had happened within the hour.

In any case, she moved on to the next suggestion, and suddenly felt her eyebrows clawing for her hairline. She read over the suggestion, and then read it over again, just to make sure she hadn't spontaneously hallucinated the words. Slowly, robotically, she pulled out her phone, and called Sakawa.

After four rings, it picked up. _"Hello?"  
_  
"Come to my office. Now." And with that, Fubuki hung up and moved on to another suggestion.

A few minutes later Sakawa poked her head in, looking a little nervous. Good. "Uh, you wanted to see me?"

"Sit," Fubuki ordered. The cruiser sat. Fubuki held up the paper. "Explain."

To her surprise and annoyance, Sakawa lit up at that. "It's the perfect way to get at the Harbor Princess!" she exuberantly explained. "It's just been rotting there in harbor, and I'm sure we could finagle it to automatically run for a few hundred miles. And then boom! No more Harbor Princess!"

'It' was the old nuclear attack submarine Olympia, which had been badly damaged early in the Abyssal War. The crew had managed to get the submarine limping back to Japan, where it promptly sat; nobody in Japan wanted to deal with scrapping a nuclear submarine, and it wasn't getting to the US anytime soon. And so it had, in Sakawa's words, just rotted there like an old Russian sub.

Still, for all that it was commendable that Sakawa wanted to find a use for the carcass, this was just... utterly daft.

"Nuclear reactors do not explode like nuclear bombs," Fubuki stated, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What?!" Sakawa yelped. "But this website I found said so!"

Fubuki just stared at Sakawa. And stared. And stared. And-

"Alright, I'm sorry, I was wrong!" Sakawa wailed. Excellent. "I'll tell Nagato I was wrong, too!" Wait, what?

"What..." Fubuki asked with great trepidation. "Did you tell Nagato?"

~o~

At a nearby nuclear power plant, several workers watched as the battleship Nagato slowly built up a wall made of stone cemented together. She wasn't making much progress.

"So, do you know why she's doing this?" one of them wondered.

"Nope," the other decided.


	238. Rule 2783

**Rule 2783. We already posted that the entire 'List of things Xcom Operatives Are No Longer Allowed To Do' is off limits quite a while ago. Whichever Science!Shipgirl invented 'Oppenheimer's Flashlight' is to report for cleanup duty NOW!  
**  
Phoenix chuckled deeply and malevolently to herself, most of her attention focused on putting one last touch on her old particle accelerator. Put her on probation for another two months, would they? Well, she'd show them. She'd show them all! Mwahahahahahahahaha!

Yeah, the cruiser had kind of... snapped. Besides the mad laughter, that manifested in the desire to try out the most extreme experiment she could think of: a little something called Oppenheimer's Flashlight. She'd wanted to try building one for ages, but it wasn't until her recent madness that she'd had a feasible idea for building one. The idea behind Oppenheimer's Flashlight was a simple one: a colossal powerful beam of coherent light, powerful enough to induce nuclear decay in whatever it hit. The result? A rolling chain of fission reactions.

Awesome.

And now she knew how to induce the decay effect, though any attempt at explanation would result in the listener's brains dribbling out of their ears. She just needed a gamma-ray laser powerful enough to carve a visible dick in the moon.

Her first thought had been to use Hafnium-178, but three all-nighters had failed to produce the necessary burst of gamma rays, and so it was dropped. Plan B was a large number of positrons, which would produce gamma rays upon annihilation with electrons. Hence why she was patching up her old particle accelerator.

"Heheheheh... soon..."

~o~

When command staff in San Diego discovered that Phoenix had vanished - by which we mean South Dakota had burst into the main office in a panic - they joined in on the panic for about five minutes before dispatching their best scouts to go find her.

That hadn't gone well, apparently.

"So you're telling me we have _no_ idea where Phoenix is?" Admiral Holloway half-asked, half-stated, quivering in... something. "Is that what you're telling me?"

Chester, Salt Lake City, and the elder Lexington shifted nervously on her feet; Hornet leaned over and let Eldridge whisper into her ear, saying "Apparently, Phoenix is blocking Eldridge's mystical senses." once she pulled away.

Holloway threw up his hands. "Well, great. I guess we'll find out when she does something stupid. Or crazy. Or crazy stupid." He blinked. "Hang on, why is it so bright in here?"

Everyone scrambled over to the window, taking in the sight of a massive column of light rising out of the east. Well, for about a second before they flinched back, clutching their eyes. Hornet, Lexington, Chester, and Salt Lake City merely blinked and cleared out the spots; Eldridge was on the floor clutching her eyes, while Admiral Holloway was visibly squinting.

"You alright, Admiral?" Lexington queried.

"I think I've got damaged retinas," he replied. "What's going on?"

Lexington opened her mouth-

"Well, the beam just cut off," Chester said.

"Yes, that," the carrier agreed. "Whatever happened, it's done."

"In that case, someone go find that cruiser and bring her back so I can _wring her neck_." He paused. " _After_ we find out what the beam of light was aimed at."

~o~

In the event, Holloway would find out before Phoenix was retrieved, when his phone rang fifteen minutes after everyone left.

"Hello?"

 _"Explain to me why there is a penis carved into the moon,"_ Admiral Goto growled. _"My light cruisers are up in arms, and Kongo is practicing her 'Maiden's Springtime of Youth' speech. On_ me. _Tell me which bitch of yours I need to smack."  
_  
At this point, Admiral Holloway was sure his forehead was permanently damaged from all the times his hand had smacked into it. "We're just retrieving Phoenix right now."

 _"Good. I'll be there in ten."_ And with that, the Japanese admiral hung up.

Holloway mentally discarded his plans for punishment, and went back to work. Goto would be punishment enough.


	239. Rule 2785

**Rule 2785. Recreating attacks seen in anime, video games and comics is now forbidden. They are highly impractical and will more than likely see you injured if and when they fail.  
**  
"-HAAAAAAAA!"

A beam of blue energy soared off into the horizon as Hawaii lowered her hands and wiped some sweat from her brow. Her blasts were getting stronger. Slowly, but they were getting stronger. Excellent. Now, time to head back in and-

Suddenly, the large cruiser blinked. There was something on the horizon, something familiar. Squinting allowed her to make out some of the details: it was Midway and Wisconsin, with expressions on their faces that Hawaii could only describe as 'awed'. For a moment, Hawaii wondered why they had those expressions, and then she remembered. And slapped her forehead.

"Oh, right, they're weebs..." she muttered. She also noted that they were steaming straight towards her. "I think I can guess where _this_ is going."

Sure enough, once the two were close enough, they flopped onto their knees on the water, heads bowed.

"Please teach us!" both of them pleaded.

Hawaii opened her mouth to say no - and then closed it as an idea came to her. A wicked idea. Cruel in the extreme. And also, likely, extremely hilarious.

"Sure," she said, making sure to hide her growing glee. "Give me a few days to get my training program arranged again, and then meet me on the airfield on Coronado."

As Wisconsin and Midway cheered and high-fived each other, Hawaii pulled out her phone and dialed a certain number, one that she had earned after a drinking contest a few months back with Iowa. Oh, her poor head and liver had never forgiven her for that, and her attempt to mix ki and alcohol had been a dismal failure, but the number was worth it.

Case in point...

 _[Hello?]_ came the voice of Central Princess once the call went through.

"Hey, this is Hawaii. I need a favor..."

~o~

"Wow..." Wisconsin and Midway breathed as the massive seaplane they were in coasted down for a landing in the ocean. Nearby, the island of Kaua'i loomed above the water.

[Yeah, a beauty, ain't she?] the pilot, a Wo-class carrier that looked decidedly incongruous in her pilot's outfit. [Welcome to Kaua'i. It's even still got most of the people.]

Hawaii grimaced at the reminder of what the Abyssals had done on Maui and Oahu. "Right... by the way, Central Princess mentioned something about an experiment gone wrong...?"

The pilot grimaced. [Yeah, some creature the Director sent over to us for training. Don't know who screwed up, but someone did, and Central Princess just dumped it on the island after a few deaths. Luckily, it seems to prefer chickens to people, and some of the islanders got the bright idea to release some of their hogs into the wild, so its got feral pigs to munch on, too. So unless you just wander into the interior or something, you'll be fine.]

"That's good," Hawaii said, grinning.

Soon enough the plane had touched down on the water, and they had all disembarked and decamped to the house Hawaii had rented for the duration.

"Get some sleep," was all Hawaii told the other two.

Naturally, they were so excited it was past midnight when they did.

~o~

4:30. The next morning. The cry of a rooster, joined by the rays of the rising sun, hit Hawaii at the same time, prompting her to rise and slip on her clothes. That done, she padded over to the room Midway and Wisconsin were sharing, and found them both sprawled on their beds, happily sleeping. Well, that was easy enough to fix.

Holding up her palm, Hawaii concentrated a small ball of energy above it, and then let it detonate. The resulting noise greatly resembled a cannon shell going off, and both shipgirls reacted as expected: by yelping and flopping off of their beds.

"Rise and shine, girls," Hawaii announced. "Your training begins now."

"It's four thirty in the goddamn morning..." Midway groaned.

"Yup! Take five to get dressed and then meet me out front. We're going jogging."

Despite the grumbling, the two were dressed and out in three minutes. And true to form, they were jogging. It was a short jog, with little to no upward movement. Easy. _'This isn't too bad,'_ Wisconsin and Midway both mused to themselves.

After about a mile, Hawaii came to a halt in front of what looked to be a print shop, a small helicopter sitting behind the building. A man in khakis was just exiting, and Hawaii walked up to him with friendliness oozing out of every pore.

"Morning, John!" she announced.

"Morning, Hawaii," John greeted back, before leaning to look around her. "And are those two..."

"Yup, they're here to take over your deliveries. At least, the ones in the interior."

"Oh, excellent." Grabbing two bags stuffed full of newspapers, John tossed them over to Midway and Wisconsin, who both exchanged glances that said 'This is training?'.

Apparently, yes, because once they'd adjusted the straps and took their few steps following Hawaii away the apparent newspaperman interjected in an incredulous voice.

"Wait, don't tell me you're doing that on foot! You're not going to use the helicopter?"

"Of course not!" Hawaii scoffed. "If we did that, it wouldn't be training."

At that, Wisconsin and Midway shared a nervous glance. This was going to be bad. The only question was _how_ bad?

~o~

The answer, of course, was very bad. The first couple of miles weren't too bad; they were _shipgirls,_ and military PT was far harsher. Then they were confronted with the stairs. Stairs stretching miles up the side of a mountain. And that was one of the _lesser_ obstacles.

"Careful, now, you don't want to get swallowed up by the sand."

"Careful, now, you don't want to be swept over that waterfall."

As bad as the natural barriers were, the two also found out why the Abyssal experiment would be asked about. Neither had expected it to be a T. rex-sized beast with teeth the size of their forearms and more spikes than a 90s superhero team.

"Run! Lose step and you'll be devoured!"

They ran.

By the time the reached the coastal plains again, both were sprawled out on their backs, their blowers engaged to suck in more air. Infuriatingly, Hawaii was entirely unaffected.

"Well, that should do it for your early morning routine," Hawaii remarked. "Now it's time for your _early_ morning routine."

Wisconsin promptly groaned, but Midway was surprisingly silent for about five seconds, after which she sat bolt upright and jabbed an accusatory finger at Hawaii. "Hey, wait a minute, this is just the first round of training from Dragon Ball!"

 _'Shit,'_ Hawaii thought. "How did you know?"

"I saw the original broadcast while I was in Japan," the carrier answered. "Which isn't the goddamn point! You scammed us!" Clambering to her feet, Midway cupped her hands at her sides.

"You know, even if you pull it off a Kamehameha in your condition isn't a good idea," Hawaii very reasonably pointed out.

"Shut up! Take this!" Midway thrust her cupped hands out-

And a sickly little tadpole of an energy blast limped out, wobbling on an erratic course and a sickly purple color instead of the usual shining blue. After about two feet it lost all forward momentum and plummeted straight down, not even kicking up dust. Silence reigned, and then Midway recupped her hands and tried again. This time a shower of clams came out.

"... Why clams?" Wisconsin finally said.

Instead of answering, Midway frantically tried again. More clams. Sighing, Hawaii stepped forward and chopped her on the back of the head before the carrier could try again, at which she slumped to the ground.

"Well, as an apology, how about a six-day Hawaiian vacation?" the cruiser offered to Wisconsin. "I was only able to wrangle a week out of Admiral Holloway, and I had to arrange some replacements, but that still should be a good vacation."

Suddenly, the battleship was all smiles. "Sure! No hard feelings." She paused, frowning in thought. "Though, who are the replacements?"

~o~

New Jersey and Massachusetts eyed the newcomer, a Ta-class battleship that had shown up two days ago, dressed in civilian clothes and stating that she was there to fill in for Wisconsin for a while. And she'd done nothing but eat their ice cream supplies and watch Netflix.

"You go talk to her," Massachusetts said, nudging Jersey in the ribs.

"No, you do it," Jersey retorted. "We both know I have a talent for accidentally pissing people off."

[I can hear you two, y'know!] the Allied Abyssal called out. [And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, I'm only here a week and I don't think it's very likely you guys'll need more than seven fast battleships.]

Immediately after she said that, the alarm started blaring, followed by Missouri skidding in.

"All hands on deck!" she shouted, turning to the Ta-class. "You too! Jersey, Massie, make sure she suits up, I need to go drag Dakota out of her lab!" And just like that, she was gone.

"Just had to fucking say that, didn't you," New Jersey groused to the stunned Abyssal.

~o~

Meanwhile, an ocean away, the destroyers of Desdiv 6 watched as Tenryuu swung her sword in random directions, shouting out grandiose phrases with each swing.

"What is she _doing_?" Akatsuki wondered.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say she's trying to create some fancy sword attack, nanodesu," Inazuma offered.

"She is," Ikazuchi deadpanned. "This is exactly like that time I tried to create my own ki attack." No sooner had Ikazuchi spoken those words did she notice that she'd, well, said them. As her sisters all turned stares of varying levels of disbelief on her, she did a very good impression of a hot tomato.

"Riiiight..." Akatsuki muttered, turning back to Tenryuu. "So, uh, should we do something? She doesn't seem to be making much progress."

Out on the field, Tenryuu swung a little too enthusiastically, cutting through a tree that would have fallen on her had she not hastily caught and thrown it off to the side. That settled the matter, and Hibiki's "Da" spoke their mind. As one, they rose out of the bushes and towards their momboat.

"Oh, hey girls," said cruiser greeted once she noticed them. "What's up?"

Ikazuchi was the first to speak, cutting right to the heart of the matter. "Why are you trying to develop a sword beam attack?"

Tenryuu flinched. "I'm not-"

"You're a terrible liar, Tenryuu-mama," Akatsuki interrupted. The honorific had the desired effect of turning Tenryuu into a red delicious. "At least to us."

"You have a plasma cannon in your left eye, nanodesu. Use that!" Inazuma chimed in.

"'S a particle cannon, not a plasma cannon," Tenryuu muttered. "And sword beams are more reusable." A finger reached up to tap her eyepatch. "This thing only holds enough charge for one shot, y'know."

Three-quarters of Desdiv 6 nodded at that; Hibiki frowned. "Kiso developed a sword beam," she stated.

Tenryuu's reaction was impressive. Flames literally burning in her visible eye, she whirled around and gave the stump of the tree she'd cut down a hearty punt that sent it and quite a bit of dirt flying through the air.

"Damn bitch thinks she can upstage me! Well, I'll show her! I'll show them all! Mwahahahahahahaha!"

As Tenryuu's mad laughter continued with no end in sight, the destroyers began to edge away, formulating a new plan.

"Tatsuta?" Akatsuki whispered.

"Tatsuta, nanodesu," Inazuma agreed.


	240. Rule 2786

**Rule 2786. Do not feed fairies spinach.  
**  
Yamato and Enterprise slumped bonelessly onto a park bench, the wood and metal structure creaking ominously but holding. Out on the grass, Yoshino ran happily, arms held out and airplane noises flowing out of her mouth. Two days of rain had cooped up the entire little family in their house, driving Yoshino into stir-craziness and Yamato and Enterprise to the limits of their own endurance. Getting her outside again was a godsend.

For several minutes both shipgirls held position, letting the tension drain out of sore and overworked muscles. Then they heard a familiar noise.

"Play!"

"Desu!"

"You play!"

"Desu!"

"You play!"

Slowly, the two lifted their heads up to see Yoshino squatted down on the grass, glaring at a fairy in Yuubari's colors. The fairy, for its part, was glaring back just as fiercely. But it wasn't the scene that sent shivers down down their spine, or at least, not alone. It was the tone. The tone that usually preceded one of Yoshino's temper tantrums.

"Desu!" the fairy declared, still glaring up at Yoshino.

"You-" Yoshino shot back, raising one chubby fist. "Play!" And with that, she brought it down.

Yamato was already composing an apology to Yuubari for getting her fairy squashed when an odd thing happened. Well, not so much odd as utterly impossible: the fairy held up its hand and caught Yoshino's fist. As everyone, Yoshino included, stared at it, the fairy smirked. And then Yoshino grinned.

"Squish!" she declared, raising her fist and bringing it down again, to much the same results. "Squish!" Except this time, when she tried to pull her fist away, it didn't move. Pouting cutely, the toddler reached down and grabbed her own wrist, giving it a yank. No dice.

Then the fairy lifted Yoshino into the air.

While Yoshino happily babbled - "Fly, fly!" - Enterprise almost surged out of the bench. Almost, because Yamato beat her to the punch. So she had a front-row seat when the fairy carefully put Yoshino down, grabbed Yamato by one ankle, and then hurled her up into the air.

Blinking, Enterprise walked over and picked up Yoshino, the fairy busy eyeing the sky. The carrier went back to the bench, placed Yoshino on it, told her to "Stay put, okay, sweetie?", and then stepped back towards the fairy. She, too, turned her eyes skyward, and so when Yamato came falling and wailing down out of the sky she was able to spread her stance and brace.

Catching Yamato still damn near took out her knees, or so it felt like. The concrete underneath definitely shattered.

"I'd say you need to lose weight," Enterprise grunted as she hauled Yamato back to the bench. "But you've always been this heavy."

"Hawawawawa..."

"Now, if you could keep Yoshino entertained, I'll go see what's up with that fairy," the carrier said as she placed her wife down on the bench.

With a cry of "Mama!", Yoshino clambered onto Yamato's stomach, guaranteeing that she'd stay there as long as Yoshino did, and Enterprise exited the scene.

~o~

Four fairies combed through the corridors of their ship, searching. Three were armed with Arisaka rifles, their crew not being a priority to get the newfangled autorifles. The last was unarmed, and a fair bit larger than the other three. _That_ one had been fed spinach.

Turning a corner, they found the corridor stuffed with several massive spiked balls. That was their target. The rifle fairies immediately dropped to one knee, pulled their bolts, and opened fire; the spinach-fed fairy charged past the first rhinovirus and went to work in the rear.

^Wish we had some machine guns,^ one of the fairies grumbled as the rhinovirus they were shooting trundled towards them, apparently unaffected by an even dozen bullets in it. ^'Cause these rifles just ain't cutting it!^

^At least we got a spinach fairy,^ one of the others pointed out.

The sounds of carnage going on further done the corridor were proof of that. The carnage stopped, and then after another two salvos a hand burst through the virus and collapsed it, letting the spinach fairy step over the mangled protein corpses of the viruses.

^Let's go,^ it rumbled in a deep alto. Not waiting, it turned and stomped off.

The three rifle fairies all sighed and trundled after the spinach fairy. ^What are we even doing here?^ one wondered.

~o~

"Huh," Enterprise muttered as she pulled away from the microscope Yuubari had shoved in her face. On the other end was the other Yuubari, her chest sliced open and looking decidedly weary of the whole ordeal. "Spinach does that to fairies?"

"Apparently. Obviously, we don't want to give it to any free fairies, but it seems to be good for fighting illnesses."

"Yeah, about that," Enterprise said. "You've got a spinach fueled fairy on the loose. Yamato already had a bad run-in with it."

Yuubari's eyes widened, and she dropped the microscope on the floor - getting an ominous tinkling sound in the process - before sprinting clear out the door.

"Wait!" the other Yuubari, still cut open, called out, to no avail. "Could've at least closed me up again... hey, could you get me some mochi? I've got a serious hankering for some strawberry mochi."

"I'll see what I can find," Enterprise replied.


	241. Rule 2790

**Rule 2790. Don't call USS Roi (CVE-103) USS** ** _Poi_** **she's getting irritated.  
**  
Eyes opened, taking in the concrete tank, the odd four-piece band, the Admiral standing on a catwalk above with a destroyer next to her-

Wait. Eyes?

USS Roi blinked, then patted herself down. Yup. Eyes, head, fingers, legs, breasts. Oh, this was going to take some getting used to. Wait, what was that last thing she'd noticed? Oh, yeah, Admiral's uniform! Shaking off her confusion, the jeep carrier hastily saluted. "USS Roi, CVE-103, reporting for duty, sir!"

"At ease, Roi," the Admiral said, though oddly enough the destroyer next to him seemed to have collapsed into giggles. As Roi relaxed, she eyed said destroyer. That looked like Fletcher, though how she knew that... "I'm sure you've got a great many questions."

"Oh, tons," the escort carrier replied, pointing at Fletcher. "But right now, I wanna know what's up with the tin can over there."

The Admiral glanced over to Fletcher, and to Roi's surprise he suddenly got a look of extreme indigestion on his face. Before he could reply, though, Fletcher's giggles erupted into outright laughter.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WE'VE GOT OUR OWN POI NOW! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Roi didn't know what poi was or what it had to do with her - but she didn't look like that. And the continued look of indigestion on the Admiral's face told her that that was _exactly_ the right attitude to have.

"Do I want to know what the whole 'poi' thing is about?"

"It's in the briefing packets. You'll find out."

~o~

It was, indeed, in the briefing packet. To Roi's annoyance, the 'poi' thing was, as far as she could tell, valley girl slang. And yes, she knew what a valley girl was. Her fellow CVEs had been quite enthusiastic in showing her modern TV, which was mostly produced in southern California anyway. Worse, it was _Japanese_ valley girl slang. The only consolation was that nobody besides Fletcher seemed very interested in the connection, and Nicholas had taken care of her.

Then she met the Taffies.

Despite public perception and a _lot_ of reality, the three destroyers of Taffy 3 and lone DE, while massive troublemakers, were _not_ the biggest headache on a per-incident basis. That dubious honor instead fell on DEs Dennis and Raymond, who had never quite had to grow up. The only good news was that they rarely caused trouble. They just caused tons of it when they did.

Case in point...

"Hey Poi!"

"Poi!"

"Poipoipoi!"

"Poi!"

Yeah, they latched onto _that_ rumor like limpets.

For a solid two hours, the little rugrats had followed Roi around the base, and she was rapidly learning where the limits of her patience lay - by reaching them. Something in her finally snapped, and she loomed over the two DE's, fury written on every square millimeter.

"SHUT. UP!" she roared.

For a moment, blessed silence. And then...

"Poi?"

"Poi."

"Poipoipoipoipoi!"

"Poipoipoipoipoi!"

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!"

~o~

 _Some months later:  
_  
Roi groaned, opening her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Her mouth felt like cotton and her entire body ached. "Where am I?" she groaned.

"In the docks, getting several months of overwork fixed up."

Slowly, the jeep carrier lowered her gaze to find a woman - no, a shipgirl - in a doctor's uniform staring at her with a critical eye.

"I get it, you wanted to get away from those DEs," the shipgirl stated. "But this is not the way to do it. I'm Medusa, by the way."

"Charmed," Roi croaked. "Water...?

Medusa reached over and produced a glass that she handed over. "Here."

It felt like her arms were on fire, but Roi managed to reach up and take the glass herself. A little water dribbled into the bath, but eh. At least the cotton taste had been reduced.

However, no sooner had she drunk the water than the door to the docks slammed open, Raymond and Dennis piling in with sad looks on their faces. "We're sorry!" they wailed.

Sighing, Medusa turned to Roi, who was looking rather... put out. "Calm down. We don't want you doing anything overly strenuous."

"I don't want to calm down," Roi growled, a feeling of gratification shooting through her at the flinches that produced. "I want to wring their little necks."

"I'm afraid that that would qualify as 'overly strenuous', so..."

A prick to her neck, and Roi felt darkness claim her.


	242. Rule 2791

**Rule 2791. Do not leave fake "positive" pregnancy tests in the trash bins of the rooms of shipgirl couples.  
**  
It was a tense atmosphere in the Yokosuka mess. Akagi and Shokaku had gotten the bright idea of eating together, which necessarily entailed dragging Zuikaku and Kaga along for the ride. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem; the relationship between the two carriers had long since been blown wide open. Though the two tried to hide it, they at least didn't put on a show of being belligerent with each other anymore.

And though the current status was... unpleasant, it wasn't that. They weren't sniping at each other, they were just refusing to talk to or even really look at one another. Frankly, it was a little bit creepy, and had the whole room on edge.

Tatsuta took this all in, and decided to wait. Sooner or later one of them - most likely Zuikaku - would break that silence, and then she'd know what juicy gossip was hidden.

"So, you figured out what's going on with those two yet?" Tenryuu asked around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"It's a lovers' spat, obviously," she replied, getting a nod from her sister. "The cause, though, I'm not sure, though I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."

"Cool." And with that, Tenryuu went back to eating.

To Tatsuta's disappointment, it was a good ten minutes before something happened. But when it did happen, it was so much more than she could have expected. The doors to the cafeteria swung open, and a sour-looking Kiso shuffled in, Hokaze hanging off her arm and almost literally glowing.

"So, what should we name the baby?" the destroyer said.

Had Tatsuta been drinking anything, it likely would have ended up on the table; Tenryuu, still eating, choked on her sausage. And that seemed to be the standard reaction: all over the cafeteria, shipgirls were choking on their breakfasts, falling off their chairs, and/or shouting. There was a lot of shouting.

Kiso's reaction was the most interesting. The cruiser flushed, and then hissed to her wife, "Don't say that so loud!"

"But this is so cool! I'm gonna be a mama! Oh, I told you those special techniques would work!"

 _'Well, isn't this interesting...'_ Tatsuta mused. Something to check out later in the day - or ask Aoba, as the heavy cruiser ran up to the couple.

"So, I know, I'm not supposed to do any journalistic stuff, but could you tell me how you-"

"No," Kiso immediately replied.

Aoba blinked, then turned up the puppy-dog eyes. "Pleeeeeeease?" she whined cutely.

Kiso no-sold the assault of cuteness like Bo versus Boz. "No."

The puppy-dog eyes fell away, and Aoba shrugged. "Ah, well, worth a shot. Now-"

"SAY SOMETHING, DAMMIT!"

All eyes turned towards Zuikaku, and Tatsuta grinned. There we go! The carrier was now standing, hands planted on the table and glaring down at Kaga.

"YOU DON'T GET TO JUST _LIE_ ABOUT THIS AND THEN CLAM UP!"

Tatsuta felt the urge to squeal.

"I don't see why I need to say anything," Kaga frostily replied. _"You're_ the one lying here."

A bit of a squeal slipped out.

"Oh, so you're saying you're _not_ pregnant?" Zuikaku snapped. "That it wasn't _your_ pregnancy test in the trash?"

"What?!" Akagi roared. "You got Kaga pregnant, Zuikaku?! How could you be so irresponsible!"

Tatsuta was now officially in gossip bliss.

"I am _not_ pregnant," Kaga bit out, pointing at Zuikaku. "And there's only one other person who could've used that test."

"You stupid space heater!" Shokaku roared. "I make you a plushie of yourself for free and you thank me by getting my sister pregnant?!"

Aaaand down she went.

Still, that seemed to be what made Zuikaku and Kaga realize that they had an audience. And that said audience was angry. Anger melted away in favor of mild panic.

"Uh, wait, sis, I'm not-"

"I assure you, Akagi, I'm not-"

Suddenly, Soryu and Hiryu popped up behind Akagi; Zuiho, Chiyoda, Chitose, Hiyo, Junyo, and Taiho did the same behind Shokaku.

"Ohhhh, you've got a bunch of light carriers to help. I'm so scared," Hiryu snarked.

"I'd rather not have to hurt you." Taiho grinned. "Oh, who am I kidding. I'm totally going to enjoy this."

"Uh, guys?"

"Perhaps we could talk this out after all..."

Tenryuu, at this point, hefted Tatsuta and began heading for the doors; Kiso, Hokaze, and Aoba had already made their exit. Barely had the light cruiser gotten out the door when the sound of an explosion rang out in the mess.

"That was close," she muttered. "Oh, Admiral Goto is going to be _pissed_ about this..."


	243. Rule 2796

**Rule 2796. Yes, there are ammunition ships in the US Navy named after the volcanoes Diamond Head, Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea. No, this does not mean they will explode like Mutsu, nor does it mean they have body temperature rivaling Kaga. Please stop spreading such rumors.  
**  
USS Wasp, of the Essex class, sighed at the babbled report from her fairies. Looking up, she found the rest of the carriers in her task group doing the same. "Okay, I'm down to four torpedoes and a stack of 100-lb bombs. What about you guys?"

"I'm down to rockets," Ticonderoga reported.

 _"I'm_ down to machine-gun ammo," San Jacinto said, just a hint of competition in her voice.

Princeton rolled her eyes. "Since this isn't a competition, I'm perfectly willing to say that I've got enough ammo left for a single deckload of Avengers."

Wasp nodded, and turned back to their ring of escorts. "How's everyone doing, ammo-wise?"

"We're good!" the escort flagship, St. Paul, shouted back.

With that confirmed, Wasp raised her hand to her ear to key on her radio. "Wasp to home base. We need our ammo restocked, ASAP."

 _"Confirmed. The Abyssals are moving away, so we're having Diamond Head meet with you. The coordinates are..."  
_  
"Got it." Turning, Wasp cleared her throat. "Alright, listen up, everyone! We're going to restock with Diamond Head-" A choking sound came from Princeton's direction. "And I want you lot to be on your _best behavior!"  
_  
"One time!" a pale yet flushed Princeton protested.

"You screamed 'SHE'S GONNA BLOW!', punched her in the face, and then ran away," San Jacinto deadpanned. "Straight into the waiting arms of an Abyssal surface force. You'll forgive us if we _really_ don't want something like that to happen again. I mean, you're the reason why we had to change our screen."

That shut Princeton up, and she dutifully followed the task group towards their rendezvous. Soon enough, Diamond Head crested the horizon, a torpedo poking out of the backpack that took the place of her hold.

"Aircraft munitions, right?" she said, taking out bombs, torpedoes, and rockets. "Alright, guys, take your pick, and-" Her eyes fell on Princeton, and her eyes narrowed. "You."

"One time!" Princeton protested again.

Diamond Head rolled her eyes, but still doled out the ammunition to Princeton.

~o~

About eighty miles away, Washington, North Carolina, and Indiana all breathed sighs of relief as the last of the Abyssal battleships they'd been fighting slipped beneath the waves. That was the third such group they'd smashed up, and while none of them were in any danger they'd accumulated plenty of minor damage and were running low on ammo.

"Alright, main gun ammo count, everyone!" Washington barked.

"42 16" rounds left, all HC!" Indiana reported.

"69 for me!" North Carolina concurred.

One eye twitching, Washington snarled, "Take this seriously, dammit!"

"But that's how many I actually have!" the Showboat protested.

"Same!"

That was one hell of a coincidence, but it also wasn't something Washington was particularly invested in combating. The more important point was that they all could count the number of full salvos they could fire on their hands. Even as card-carrying members of the Radar Master Race (TM), that was not a very comforting amount of main gun ammo.

And so, Washington raised her hand to her ear and activated her radio. "Washington to home base. We could use a restock on main gun ammo."

"And 5" ammo!" Indiana interjected.

"And 5" ammo."

 _"Copy that. Mauna Loa is on her way, she'll restock you. Good hunting!"  
_  
For a moment, Washington had an urge to squeal, but she shoved it down. "Copy that."

"So, Mauna Loa, huh?" Indiana mused. "I've heard some rumors about her. That she's hot like a furnace - or Kaga."

"Don't tell me you believe those rumors," North Carolina scoffed. "I've _met_ her; she's a normal 98.6 like the rest of us."

Indiana shrugged, and the task group fell silent while they made their way to the rendezvous, their cruiser and destroyer escorts trailing behind. Soon enough, Mauna Loa came into sight, and she lit up and began steaming towards them once that happened.

"Special delivery!" she chirped. "We've got a day-long special on shells, and the Abyssals have ordered in bulk!"

Indiana and North Carolina both chuckled, and were about to move up to the ammo ship to be loaded up when Washington swept past them, grabbed Mauna Loa, and pulled her in close.

"Eh?! W-What?!" the ammo ship stammered.

"You're..." Washington began, only to pull away, frowning. "You're not warm. Not anymore than usual."

"Of course not!" Mauna Loa snapped. "You were listening to that stupid rumor, weren't you?"

Washington didn't answer, and found she couldn't look Mauna Loa in the eye.

"Just for that, you're getting your ammo last!"


	244. Rule 2797

**Rule 2797. You are to not sacrifice Abyssals to appease Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. It just scares them.  
**  
Mauna Loa glanced at the note she'd found taped to her door, confirming that yes, this was the room it had directed her to. Her confusion was because this was a water heater room.

"Oh. You're here, too."

The ammo ship turned around to find another ammo ship, Mauna Kea. In her hand was a note.

"Yeah. What do you think this is all about?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" Mauna Kea said in a flat deadpan. "The only reason I'm here is because I know who wrote this note and I'd rather go through whatever this is than have her bugging me all the time."

That was a good reason. Mauna Loa mentally dropped the subject, and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, a destroyer-sized person in a hooded cloak that obscured her face opened it.

"Good, you're early," she said, before turning and stalking into the room. Indeed, there was a hot water heater in there, as well as a battered old washing machine, and the mysterious girl went to the machine and pulled it open to reveal a passageway into a back room. It was at this point that Mauna Kea spoke up.

"So, what's this about, Soley?"

The destroyer froze halfway through the impromptu doorway. "I-I have no idea who that is," she said in a voice suddenly an octave lower.

"Pull the other one, it's got bells," Mauna Kea countered.

"Hey, don't bust the poor girl's chops, okay?" Mauna Loa interjected, clapping a hand on the other ammo ship's shoulder. "This is so cool! Secret rooms! Hidden faces! I wonder what else she's gonna show us!"

Mauna Kea groaned, but let herself be pushed after Soley, the destroyer sending Mauna Loa a thankful nod. The passageway was short, leading to a wooden door that Soley swung open. Inside was a small amphitheater, rows of wooden benches ringing a stone table in the center, said rings festooned with more cloaked shipgirls. Oddly, none of them appeared to be bigger than a cruiser.

Oh, and there were several Abyssals tied up in one corner. Odd, that. More than odd...

"I'm not the only getting the heebie-jeebies from this whole setup, am I?" Mauna Loa whispered in Mauna Kea's ear.

"It's not just you."

"HOOGA-SHAKA, HOOGA HOOGA! HOOGA-SHAKA, HOOGA HOOGA!"

Both ammo ships flinched at the sudden chanting that filled the room. The nonsense words steadily rose in volume and cadence as Soley retrieved one of the Abyssals, a panicked-looking light cruiser stripped of most of its armor.

[Please!] it pleaded. [Don't do this! I'll renounce warfare against humanity, I'll become your sex slave, _I'll do that hot pepper challenge,_ just please don't kill me!]

Soley didn't respond. Instead, she threw the cruiser down on the slab and drew out a wicked knife.

"Rejoice!" the destroyer declared, raising the knife. "For your sacrifice shall appease Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, and stay their fiery wrath for-"

Guns banged.

"ARGLBLARGL!"

Several 3" shells slammed into Soley, the chanting came to a dead stop, and Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea lowered their guns. In a fit of irony, the expression on Mauna Loa's face could only be described as "volcanic", while Mauna Kea didn't look much happier.

"You _fucking idiots!"_ Mauna Loa snapped, everyone else in the room besides Mauna Kea flinching. "I fucking thought I'd squashed those fucking rumors, and what do I fucking find but the fucking rumors alive and fucking well! _And_ you're fucking _sacrificing Abyssals in my fucking name!_ Did I fucking ask for this?! No! So knock it the fuck off!"

"P-Please, great goddess," one shipgirl unwisely said. "We just-"

"DON'T YOU EVEN FUCKING START!"

As Mauna Kea unloaded all her frustrations and more than a few proxy-fused 3" shells on the cowering crowd, Mauna Loa slunk up to the Abyssal light cruiser and said, "Did you mean it when you offered to be a sex slave?"

[Er, yes?] the Abyssal replied. [But I just got the idea from those naughty books the Wo-class keep in their quarters! I don't know how any of it _works!]  
_  
"Don't worry," Mauna Kea purred. "I'll show you everything you need to know..."


	245. Rule 2805

**Rule 2805. The only ship girls allowed to bring wands on sortie are the magic-using carriers.  
**  
A dirty little secret of the shipgirl existence was that some shipgirls really, really, and I mean _really_ did not want to fight Abyssals. Mostly due to terror, their fight or flight response defaulting to "flight". Luckily, most of these girls were destroyers, and thus their division-mates could shore up their courage.

But there was one cruiser afflicted with this problem...

"Euryalus!" Cleopatra shouted, pounding on her sister's door. "Open up! It's time to sortie!"

"We're never gonna get her out of there," Naiad sighed. "I just hope Hermione's idea works out..."

"Hermione's idea is daft and we should not be relying on it," Cleopatra snapped. "Euryalus just needs to man up and face her fears! She can't operate with other cruisers forever!"

"Try me!" came Euryalis' muffled voice.

Both cruisers sighed. "Okay, fine, we'll try Hermione's idea," Cleopatra grumbled.

The cruiser in question and her bushy brown hair arrived a few minutes later, a grin on her face and a smooth stick in hand. Cleopatra's face fell at the sight.

"Is that a _wand_?"

"Yup!" Hermione chirped, before knocking on the door. "Euryalus, it's me, Hermione! Let me in, please!"

A pause. "No! You're just gonna try and force me out!"

"I promise I won't try to force you out! And that I won't let Cleopatra try!"

"What?!" the cruiser in question hissed, only to get Hermione right up in her face.

"You will stay out here until I am done," the cruiser whispered menacingly. "Or I will hex your teeth so that they dance jigs in their sockets." Instinctively, Cleopatra flinched and put her hands to her mouth, before nodding. "Good."

"Okay!" Euryalis inadvertently interjected, followed by the lock clicking and the door opening a crack. "You can come in!"

Hermione did so, and both Cleopatra and Naiad scrambled to put their ears to the gaps in the door. To their disappointment, all they heard was Hermione say "Let me just make sure we aren't disturbed..." before a static-like buzz muffled everything.

"Damn!" Cleopatra spat.

"Ah well. Guess all we can do is wait," Naiad said, leaning back against the wall.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally, the door opened, and Euryalus stepped out, bright-eyed and eager. "I'm ready to go!" she declared, before sprinting off for the waterfront. Naiad and Cleopatra turned their curious eyes towards Hermione, who had exited right behind Euryalus.

"So, what'd you teach her?" Naiad asked.

"Well..."

~o~

Three days. Three days out on the open Atlantic, nobody around but fish, whales, and the oiler she was going to eventually have to rendezvous with. So far, boredom had been her greatest enemy.

Which, of course, got Euryalus to thinking. Why had to avoided this before? This was fine! Yeah, she'd been nervous for the first day, but she hadn't run into any Abyssals, and even if she did, she had her secret weapon. Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the wand Hermione had given her. Hopefully she wouldn't need to use it, but its presence was comforting.

A few hours passed. Euryalus was now completely relaxed. And so she almost missed the figure that popped up on the horizon.

"Who is that?" she muttered. "Another shipgirl...?"

Lest the reader leap down the poor girl's throat for thinking that anyone friendly could be about, there were other Allied cruisers plying this section of the Atlantic. Light cruisers temporarily attached to Force H, the Force de Raid's light cruisers, County and Deutschland-class on long-term patrol; hell, some of her sisters had run into Argentinian cruisers on these exact sort of patrols.

It wasn't until she'd spent quite some time closing with the figure that she realized it was not, in fact, an Allied cruiser. In fact, it was an Abyssal Ri-class heavy cruiser. A heavy cruiser that immediately fired on her.

"Aaaaaahhhhh!" she screamed, hitting the gas and sprinting away as fast as she could. "It's Second Sirte all over again!"

For a solid fifteen minutes, she ran screaming, but two facts intruded to impose some rationality again. First, and most importantly, the Abyssal was gaining. Slowly, but it was gaining. Second, her fuel reserves, already low after three days of cruiser, were dipping to alarming levels. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the wand in her pocket. If there was ever a time, it was now.

Pulling it out, she whirled around and shouted "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" In a sterling example of Sparkly Magical Shipgirl Bullshit (TM), something came out: a bounding silver horse trailing seafoam from its mane and tail. It charged at the heavy cruiser, and stopped it cold.

It did nothing for the shells that ripped into Euryalus seconds later.

~o~

Graf Spee ground her teeth and tried to force even a little more horsepower out of her straining diesels. She was going to pay for this later, but no way was she letting that little Brit cruiser get massacred. Luckily, the Abyssal seemed to have stopped for whatever reason, so she was catching up. Hopefully fast enough.

Soon, Spee had the cruiser in range of her 11" guns, and immediately opened fire. The Abyssal, caught by surprise, whirled around and attempted to fight back. But early 11" hits put paid to that idea, and after a few desultory salvoes it fled.

With a sigh of relief, Spee let it go. Her legs were on fire after that high-speed sprint, and she had a cruiser to look after.

A cruiser that she soon found was pretty badly injured. Large sections of her body were torn up from the 8" shells, the Abyssal apparently using HE for some ungodly reason. Tears streamed down her face from pain and... something else Spee couldn't quite identify. And in one hand was the shattered remains of what looked for all the world like a wand.

"Oh, honey..." Graf Spee sighed as she radioed for assistance.


	246. Rule 2806

**Rule 2806. Using your dive bombers to retrieve food from the mess is now forbidden.  
**  
It was a normal lunch in the mess.

And then the dive bombers swooped in.

Destroyers screamed and dove for cover. Kinugasa tackled Aoba by the neck and brought them both down to the ground. Soryu and Hiryu both tried to flee in opposite directions and ran straight into each other. Kaga just... froze. Shokaku cowered behind Zuikaku.

And everyone else pulled up their rigging and opened fire.

25mm, 3", 100mm, and 5" tore after the dive bombers, shredding the wall behind and sending the kitchen staff diving for cover. Teruzuki immediately barked "Cease fire!" at the sight.

Despite the quick cessation, the mess was still... well, a goddamn mess. The walls were pockmarked and crumbling, the serving area demolished, and kitchen studded with shrapnel. Miraculously, nobody had been hurt except for Ookaze, who seemed to have gotten her ass peppered by metal shards, an injury totally out of proportion to the piteous wailing she was putting forth.

"But Teruzuki-" Uranami began to protest, only for the bigger destroyer to shush her. Sure enough, about twenty seconds later the surviving dive bombers zipped out the kitchen, bags of food laden under their bellies.

"Tone, Chikuma!" Teruzuki barked, the out-of-character action doing much to get obedience. "Get your seaplanes in the air and following those dive bombers! I want to know who's responsible for this! Aoba-" She blinked; Aoba let out a weak, croaking "Help me..." as her sister squeezed the life out of her. "Tatsuta, start questioning the shot-down pilots. I know they exist. See if we can't get two lines of advance going."

"Yes ma'am!" Tatsuta barked a little _too_ enthusiastically.

"Hey, Teruzuki!" Take spoke up. "When they find who did this, can I bring 'em in? Can I can I can I? I've never bagged a carrier before!"

Briefly, the thought crossed that Take would likely overdo it. "Just make she's _alive_ , okay?" Yeah, that should do it.

~o~

Akagi groaned, holding her aching stomach. The Hunger was back, so strong that she couldn't even get up to go to the mess. That was why she had sent her dive bombers to get herself some food, and it was why, when she heard the sounds of propellers, she sat up.

"Yes, come to mama..." she moaned, holding up her flight deck to get her planes landed. Some small part of her brain noted that many of the planes were shot up, and more were missing. Her visual cortext also noted a pair of seaplanes in her peripheral vision.

The rest of her was too hungry to care. As such, she tore into the food available and devoured it messily and as fast as possible. Despite the massive stack, within ten minutes the food was gone, and Akagi leaned back and let out a hearty sigh.

"This is the life..."

GA-CHUNK

Blinking, Akagi felt a cold sweat bead on her forehead as she saw the air vent above her bed swing open. Inside, she could barely make out two brown-haired buns, two glowing white eyes, and an equally white and very wide and toothy grin.

"Heeeeeeeey," Kongo crooned. "Watcha doin'?"

"Shit," Akagi spat, right before she was yanked up.

A few seconds later, Take kicked down the door. "Alright, Akagi!" she declared. "Please, move, so I... can..." Her eyes fell on the open grate. "Aw, _fiddlesticks."_

~o~

Several hours later, Teruzuki and Akashi stared down at Akagi. The carrier was parked in a bed, frozen stiff as a board and eyes wide open in silent terror.

"Kongo?" Teruzuki confirmed.

"Kongo."

"Well, as punishments go, I'd say this one works pretty well," the destroyer admitted. "What _did_ Kongo do to her, anyway?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," Akashi replied. "And if you're smart, you don't want to know, either."


	247. Rule 2808

**Rule 2808. We get that Florida (the state) has seen a good number of invasive species, but Coral Sea, you're actually** ** _scaring_** **Florida (the battleship) and most of the other Floridian-named ships with your... over zealousness on cutting down the lionfish population.  
**  
Under normal circumstances, it would be a damn good day in South Florida for a trip to the beach. These were not normal circumstances. Beach visitors throughout the Miami metro area were treated to the sound of distant thunder that was utterly incongruous with white fluffy clouds as far as the eye could see.

On one of those beaches, a beach basically rented for the day, Florida, Miami, and Pensacola cowered behind one of the massive grills set up on the beach, a good half the remaining San Diego fleet scattered around talking or prepping, and all waiting for one of two shipgirls to come back. To the Florida shipgirls, it was flatly mystifying how everyone else could be so calm. Couldn't they hear what Coral Sea was doing out there?!

All three winced at one particular explosion.

"Oh, not the reefs..." Florida whimpered. "Please tell me she didn't blow up the reefs."

Another explosion.

"Won't someone think of the manatees?" Miami wailed.

Yet another explosion.

"It's gonna liquify the entire peninsula!" Pensacola shouted into the sand.

"Ach, babies, th' lot 'o ye."

The three Floridians looked up to see the British frigate Loch Insh - or rather, what they could see of the frigate under the multiple Burmese pythons she had wrapped around her body. Dead pythons, thankfully, with more in a good-sized wagon she was pulling via a python harness.

Yes, she quite hated Burmese pythons. How'd you guess.

"I still think ye're all crazy for wantin' t'eat these things," Loch Insh continued. "But I'm gettin' paid fer killin' pythons, so I'm not complainin'."

No sooner had she said those words than the various cooks descended on the snakes and made tracks for the tree line to start prepping them for cooking. The rest of the shipgirls went back to their conversation, and the Floridian shipgirls noted that the explosions had stopped.

And there was much rejoicing.

Calmer now that the explosions had stopped, the trio rejoined the party, the pythons were cooked up and their skins stored for sale to a leather-making company, and a great time was had by all. At least, until Coral Sea arrived on the beach several hours later with a massive net slung over her shoulder, partially supported by her rigging.

"Great haul today!" she announced, dropping the net on the sand. Inside, everyone could see hundreds of motionless lionfish.

"She got that few with that many explosions?" Pensacola muttered.

"Must've pulverized a lot of them," Florida rationalized.

"To cook a lionfish, one must first remove the venomous parts - spines and the like," San Francisco muttered to herself. "Alright, let's get this load cleaned and-"

"Ah, hang on a moment," Coral Sea interjected. "Can we get these things out of my hanger, first? It's packed waist-deep in fish in there."

Florida and Miami both paled at the implications. Visions of exploded coral reefs danced through their heads. Pensacola, meanwhile, had already fainted, and so was spared the next horror.

"Oh, and, uh, interesting side note. Torpedoes aren't really good at catching lionfish. It's a good thing that particular coral reef had already been bleached to death before I got there."

And that's when they joined their heavy cruiser neighbor in total catatonia.


	248. Rule 2812

**Rule 2812. Naka, this time you've gone too far. You cannot give everyone snacks for weeks then on April Fools Day go AWOL with a note that said "Soylent Green is Naka-chan" next to the snacks you leave out.  
**  
Sagiri, Ooshio, Kuma, Nachi, Musashi, and Taiho all balefully eyed the small pile of snacks that had been left out on the table. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me a dozenth time, and shame on me, my family, and my cow! Too many times had the Japanese shipgirls been burned by innocuous-looking snacks, and especially everyone remembered the gummy bears. And the combustible lemons. And then there was that one time Hiei had managed to, without the knowledge of anyone else, bake something that _looked_ fine but actually tasted like Satan's asshole. And-

Point is, the watchword when it came to snacks laid out was "Let someone else go first." Thankfully, there were still plenty of gluttonous suckers on base willing to be guinea pigs.

And they were going to be here, for the snacks laid out looked _very_ appetizing. Crackers shaped like steel girders; green jellies in the shape of steel drums; chocolate shells and powder bags; and, incongruously, cheap store-bought cheese popcorn.

Already the six had been waiting for fifteen minutes, and were beginning to despair of a glutton walking past, when Kaga showed up, saw the snacks, and stopped.

"Is she gonna do it?" Ooshio whispered.

"I think she is, kuma."

Slowly, and with great care, Kaga picked up a kernel of popcorn, and tossed it in her mouth. She chewed, then swallowed, and waited. After about a minute, nothing bad happened, so Kaga repeated the process with the rest of the snacks, to no apparent effect. At that point, all restraint was lost and the carrier utterly devoured the rest of the snacks. The six all sighed in relief at that and resolved to come back tomorrow.

And so, for the next two weeks, Yokosuka snacked freely on the goods. Nothing bad happened, and they were quite delicious. Even the impending arrival of April Fools Day didn't slow the consumption.

The result is that when they arrived at the snacks the next day, none of them were expecting the not that read "Soylent Green is Naka-chan" next to a very small stack of snacks: two of the jellies, four of the chocolates, and eleven of the crackers. And that resulted in... confusion.

"I don't get it," Kiyokaze muttered.

"It's alright, sis," Soyokaze replied, tapping her sister on the shoulder. "I don't get it either."

"Shima, do you have any idea what this is about?" Ookaze asked.

"Nope!"

The Shimakaze sisters weren't the only ones confused. A baker's dozen other shipgirls were milling about, throwing around ideas as to what the joke was. Then Akashi made it eighteen, and she paled dramatically - at which point she was beset on all sides by curious shipgirls.

"You know what's going on!"

"What is it what is it?!"

"It's something bad, I can tell."

"Tell Naka that if you need to explain a joke, there _is_ no joke!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, everyone!" Akashi snapped. Silence fell, allowing the repair ship to collect her thoughts. "Okay, so, you didn't hear this from me, but when we scrap a shipgirl we get resources back." The crowd erupted, and Akashi held up her hand. "The values came with the ritual, and I don't know where the ritual came from, so save your outrage. Anyway, those snacks? They match the resourcesyou get for scrapping a light cruiser."

"Like Naka," Aoba realized. "But why? I'm the only one who's actually been scrapped, and that was temporary. Why would Naka want to draw attention to something we haven't done?"

~o~

Deep below Yokosuka, Naka watched with wide eyes as a copy of herself glared at some sort of camera feed. Well, it wasn't _really_ a copy of herself, or at least, not a perfect one. Half the other Naka's face looked like melted candle wax, for instance, and that was just what she could see. Now, this was usually the time when Naka would be fishing for information, but her copy had very sensibly gagged her.

Still, she couldn't resist the urge to monologue.

"Why would I do that?" the doppelganger breathed, sounding two seconds away from snapping. "Why- They don't know? They don't _remember_ what was done to me?! To all of us?!"

Whirling around, the monstrous Naka grabbed her tied-up counterpart by the lapels and dragged her close.

"So many of us lost just to get Yamato!" she shouted in Naka's face. "So many tossed aside for the resources, just to get one stinking hotel! And now it's all been _forgotten?!_ No! This won't-!"

"If you could kindly let go of my sister, that'd be great."

The doppelganger froze, mostly due to Sendai's blade at her neck. "You... You would betray your own sister?" she said.

"You're not my sister," Sendai countered. "You're not the Naka I spent years getting to know. So I won't hesitate to give you a new hole to breathe out of if you make a wrong move."

The Naka froze again, which allowed Sendai to grab something at the back of her head.

"Besides, it's not like you're any kind of Naka at all."

With one yank, the mask came off, revealing... a rather plain Japanese teenage girl. Despite that, Naka recognized her: it was one of her biggest fans! And looniest, which explained this entire setup.

"Mm mmph!"

Unfortunately, she couldn't _tell_ Sendai that because of this stupid gag!

"No!" the girl cried out, shaking and bucking. "I will not be taken away from Naka-sama! I refuse! And I refuse to let this injustice go uncorrected!"

 _'Oh boy...'_ Naka mentally groaned, rolling her eyes. Sendai was just as unimpressed, and simply lifted the flailing girl up and walked off. Only then did Naka realize Sendai had forgotten about her. _'Curses! Sendai, I'm going to prank you so hard your head'll spin!'  
_  
Luckily, it wasn't long before Jintsuu showed up and actually freed her.


	249. Rule 2814

**Rule 2814: To the destroyers: please sent back the magical talking ferret, he does not have magic rocks with nearly unlimited power stored inside that will transform you into battleships or give you the power to sink a battleship-equivalent Abyssal.  
**  
In one of the many forests in Japan abutting their dense urban areas, a ferret ran for his life. He weaved in and out of the underbrush, leaves and branches whipping at his fur, and every so often he would glance over his shoulder to see if his pursuer was still after him.

Invariably, it was.

 _'Stupid owl!'_ the ferret mentally raged. _'A_ smart _owl would've given up by now!'  
_  
Yes, raged. See, this was no ordinary ferret. This ferret was named Felix, and he was part of a small clan of magical talking ferrets. Oral tradition stated that once, long ago, they had been ordinary ferrets, until a talking ferret with magical powers had fallen from the sky. With his long life, he had been fruitful. Very fruitful. The entire clan was basically descended from him, and untold generations had learned at his knee.

And right now, he was really wishing he had those magic powers. Maybe they could do something about this damn owl!

Unfortunately, so caught up was he in raging against his situation that he missed the owl swooping down for the kill until its claws raked his back. His legs seized and then tangled up, and he went sprawling into the dirt, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. The last thing he did before unconsciousness claimed was mentally scream a word to anyone who could hear.

 _'Help!'_

~o~

Some distance away, Kiyoshimo perked up as she heard a distant cry for help. "Did you hear that?" she asked Asashimo, who was with her.

"Hear what?" her sister asked.

A frisson of excitement ran through Kiyoshimo. A psychic cry for help that only she could hear! It could make her a battleship! Maybe. And even if it couldn't, an adventure almost certainly awaited. She turned to Asashimo and-

"Ah, just go," Asashimo said dismissively, waving her hand at Kiyoshimo. "I know that look on your face. I'll make the appropriate excuses."

Well. That was convenient. Kiyoshimo took the opportunity to sprint off in the direction she'd heard the voice coming from, crashing through underbrush. Still, it took fifteen minutes of fruitless searching before she came across an owl trying to poke its head into a bush. From the feathers scattered about, it had been at it for a while.

Somehow, Kiyoshimo knew that this was what she was looking for, which made her course of action clear. "Hey!" she shouted, at which point the owl jumped a solid foot in the air and took off in a panic. "Aww, I had a whole speech prepared..."

Regardless, the destroyer crouched down, lifted up the branches, and peered into the bush. Immediately, she gasped, because lying on the dirt was an injured ferret. Both compassion and basic selfishness demanded both that she help and that this was what she was looking for. Slowly, carefully, she picked up the ferret, and made tracks back to the base, trying to think of a shipgirl - or anyone, really - who would know how to treat a ferret.

~o~

"You've come to the right place, Kiyoshimo," Nagato said, her usual stoic expression twinkling around the eyes. "I'll get him fixed right up, though he should probably have a day of rest before you take him. Speaking of which..."

Reaching under her table, the battleship rummaged around for a bit, before emerging with a stack of paper the size of her head.

"Anyway, this should tell you all you need to know about raising a ferret," Nagato said, dropping the pile in front of Kiyoshimo with an ominous thump. "I recommend you read it all over before deciding whether to adopt this cute little guy."

"Right..." Kiyoshimo said skeptically. Slowly, she grabbed the stack and hefted it. "When will he be awake, by the way?"

"When I release him tomorrow," Nagato said. "Thought it'd be a good idea to sedate him."

The destroyer nodded, and left, carrying the stack and plotting a way to get to the ferret sooner than that. In the event, it was next morning when she arrived back at Nagato's place, to find the ferret awake and alert.

"Hey, little guy," she said, reaching out to stroke the animal's fur. "Hey, Nagato, can I have a moment with him?"

"No problem."

Once she was sure Nagato was out of earshot, Kiyoshimo leaned in close to the ferret and whispered "I know you can speak."

Under her, the ferret visibly flinched, and then said, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Following that, there was a long moment of silence, the ferret having clamped its paws over his mouth.

"Uh-huh," Kiyoshimo deadpanned. "And I'm sure you don't have a red magical jewel that turns into a bloodthirsty AI magical cannon."

This time, the ferret blinked at Kiyoshimo in honest confusion. "I know those are words, but they make _no_ sense."

About a minute later, Nagato re-entered the room to find Kiyoshimo holding Felix by the waist, shaking him vigorously and shouting a lot.

"TELL ME YOUR SECRETS! TELL ME NOW! TELL ME IMMEDIATELY!"

"Kiyoshimo, no!" Nagato barked.


	250. Rule 2815

**Rule 2815. Please don't touch Enterprise's pet fire.  
**  
Yamato blinked. Then blinked again. And then a third time.

"E," she said in a strained voice. "Why is our lawn on fire?"

Enterprise lowered her newspaper, glancing down at the small patch of flame nibbling at the lawn grass. "I'm training it to be free-range," she said, pulling the newspaper back up.

Once again, Yamato blinked in stupefaction. "That answer clarified nothing," she finally said. Then she took a step back as the fire flared up in her direction.

With a rustle, Enterprise pulled down the paper again, and gave the fire a hard glare. _"Hey,"_ she growled. Astoundingly, the fire... deflated, for lack of a better term. "That's better." And with that, it was back to the newspaper.

For the third and final time, Yamato could only stare in stupefaction, but this time she simply wandered into the house in a daze. Nope. Not questioning this new development. That way lay madness. And thankfully, Yoshino's wailing proved an excellent distraction.

~o~

The rest of Yokosuka didn't find out about this new development until about a week later, when Enterprise strolled into the mess for lunch with her pet fire sitting on her shoulder like a parrot. Everybody froze, remembering the previous times Enterprise had strolled in while on fire, but this seemed oddly contained. Nonetheless, Fubuki immediately stood and stalked over to Enterprise.

"Rule 2466," she said.

"Which is invalid," Enterprise countered. "See, I'm not actually on fire."

Fubuki's eyes narrowed, and slid over to the very obvious fire on her shoulder.

"Oh, that's my pet fire, Fire." The carrier blushed. "Yoshino named it, okay?"

"Right. And I'm sure you've got a bridge to Terabithia to sell me," the destroyer deadpanned. "Go get a fire extinguisher and put this out, and you're not getting any-"

The sudden cessation of Fubuki's order was due to the flame rearing up and turning two red patches that almost looked like _eyes_ on the destroyer. Somehow, she got an impression of puppy-dog eyes. But that was impossible. It was _fire_ , for God's sake. Then again, fire shouldn't _move_ like that, either.

"Okay, maybe Rule 2466 is invalid," Fubuki muttered. "Carry on."

Unbeknownst to both shipgirls was Yuu sneaking up on Enterprise, captivated by the fire on her shoulder. Once she was close enough, she slowly reached up, and-

"YOW!"

Burned her hand on the fire. Naturally.

While Yuu waved her hand in pain, Enterprise sighed and turned to the mess. "Okay, I recommend you _don't_ touch fire," she announced. "Because it's an actual fire. You'll burn yourself. Now, if no one else is going to do anything stupid, I'd like to get some lunch."

Nobody moved, or said anything.

"Perfect."


	251. Rule 2820

**Rule 2820. Whoever crossed out the repair ship USS Ajax's name on her name tag and wrote "Francis" in its place will be the test subject for her experiments.  
**  
Ajax, repair ship assigned to Norfolk, opened the door to her workshop, and dropped the cup of coffee she'd been carrying. When she'd decided to drop in fifteen minutes earlier than usual, she never expected to find a destroyer - a Gearing, from her size - with her nametag in one hand and a permanent marker in the other. But now that she had that sight right in front of her, the fact that her name had been crossed out on said nametag and replaced with a sloppily-written "Francis" was no surprise.

"The first time," she growled, stalking towards the suddenly panicked-looking destroyer. "Was kind of amusing. The second was exasperating. It hasn't gotten any funnier since."

The destroyer attempted to back up, but promptly hit a pile of twin 5" turrets Ajax had been busily refurbishing. Glances to the left and right were met by Ajax, handily demonstrating how futile _that_ maneuver would be.

"But the biggest sin?" Ajax continued, voice rising in volume. "You've _ruined_ the Deadpool movie for me! _Ruined!_ I can't watch it anymore without getting the urge to kill something!"

"I'm sorry!" the destroyer suddenly wailed. "It was a joke! Please don't kill me!"

The grin Ajax sprouted at that should have been comforting. It was not. Too many teeth, lips pulled too tight. "Oh, I'm not going to kill you," the repair ship crooned. Hope lit up on the destroyer's face. "That would be too _nice."  
_  
Oh, and that was the sound of said hope dying.

Suddenly, the destroyer felt a prick, and darkness quickly claimed her.

~o~

When the destroyer woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, it was to the site of half a glass tube above her. A quick glance to the side confirmed several vents, and that was when the panic set in. Sweat dripped from her brow, her pupils dilated to unhealthy levels, and she began to hyperventilate.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came Ajax's voice, cutting like a knife through her panic. "Robert F. Wilson. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Well, today's your lucky day, Wilson: you're going to be part of an experiment to advance the sum knowledge of shipgirl physiology! And since you recognize the design of this device, I think you can guess the subject."

Wilson gulped audibly. "Oxygen deprivation," she breathed.

"Yup! We still don't know how shipgirls react to asphyxiation." At some unseen signal, the vents began to hiss. "Don't worry, I said I wouldn't kill you, and I meant it. But this is probably going to get unpleasant."

~o~

Finally, Robert F. Wilson fell unconscious, and Ajax hastily restored full oxygen flow before marking down her results. So, forced induction of air into the boilers _did_ increase the amount of time a shipgirl could spend at very low oxygen levels. Naturally, there were limits, but it was still useful data to have. In fact, the fairy crew had succumbed before Wilson did, falling unconscious and thus deactivating the blowers, leaving the destroyer to follow not long after.

On the other hand, Ajax wasn't entirely sure how this would help the war effort.

"Oh well. Somebody'll find a use for it," she decided.


	252. Rule 2824

**Rule 2824: Yuubari's new gun will be held under lock and key. Releasing it requires authorization from the high command.  
**  
Admiral Goto watched grimly as the Abyssals advanced into Tokyo Bay. He hadn't thought they'd had it in them anymore, sustaining an attack on Yokosuka, and indeed, in many ways they weren't. The force entering the bay was small, and moving at a snail's pace, their heads on swivels looking for any possible shipgirl fuckery to ambush them. That saving grace had managed to give Goto time to assemble what few shipgirls weren't gallivanting off against what in hindsight was a blatantly obvious decoy.

 _'Then again,'_ he mused. _'Using four carriers that even if full were not much of a threat as a decoy is one thing. Using a fleet nearly the size of our own as a decoy? Something else entirely.'  
_  
In any case, recriminations could wait until _after_ they repelled this attack. If they could. Ooyodo was the heaviest shipgirl he had on hand, and his _only_ shipgirl aside from a gaggle of coastal escorts and Kamikaze, Mutsuki, Minekaze, and Matsu-class destroyers. Oh, and Worktown, but the invading force contained _two_ carriers of the same type, so sadly she couldn't just solo the whole group.

And so, Goto turned away from the window and knocked at the door of his last, best hope: the Yuubari twins. They _had_ to have something for emergencies like this.

It was with relief, fear, and a little disappointment that one of the Yuubaris opened the door in her combat outfit, rigging remodeled to hold one long cannon with a pistol grip about halfway down the barrel. It was almost disappointingly mundane - but this was Yuubari. She didn't _do_ mundane.

"Are you sure this will work?" was thus all Admiral Goto asked.

"Please, Admiral, you worry too much," Yuubari scoffed. "I got this."

So declared, Yuubari marched out, Goto following her until they reached the piers, at which point Yuubari hopped onto the water and steamed for the Abyssal force. Goto watched her go, then turned to the section of rooftop where his instincts had told him there was a sniper of some kind. Seeing nothing, he grabbed a pair of binoculars off his belt and gave it another look. Parked on the rooftop was the other Yuubari, peering through the scope of a far more exotic gun. Good. Always nice to have a backup.

~o~

Yuubari grinned as she sprinted over the water. Finally, a chance to test a very old weapon, without having to worry about any such annoyances as "collateral damage" or "hot blue-on-blue action". A whistling noise sounded out, and the cruiser put on her game face as shells landed around her. She'd probably only get one chance.

Her air search radar promptly pinged, followed by lookouts reporting fighters - not bombers. So the carriers must have been loaded for air defense, which made sense, given they were sailing into the teeth of the JASDF. And right on cue, what looked like almost a full wing of F-15J fighters fell onto the Abyssal fighters like a ton of bricks.

Ignoring the ongoing furball, Yuubari pressed in, more shells raining down around her. Finally, she came to a halt, aimed her cannon in the general direction of the Abyssals, and opened fire.

Milliseconds after pulling the trigger, a shell leaped out of the cannon in a gout of flame, streaking towards the Abyssals. In fact, the shell missed, and by a good fifty yards, but it hit the water and set off the warhead, and so it didn't really matter.

See, this shell was filled not with chemical explosives, or even nuclear, but a few dozen milligrams of _antimatter.  
_  
The resulting boom was quite spectacular.

"Ah, I love the smell of neutrinos in the morning," Yuubari sighed happily. "Smells like... _victory."  
_  
Three seconds after saying that, a battered Ta-class battleship burst out of the cloud of steam left behind by the explosion, making a beeline straight for Yuubari. Caught at a dead stop, the cruiser frantically tried to backpedal and reload her gun at the same time, but inexperience in combat betrayed her, and by the time she'd reloaded, the battleship was well within the shell's minimum safe distance.

And then a red beam punched straight through the battleship's forehead and dropped it to the water.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Yuubari lowered her gun and flashed a thumbs-up into the air before turning around to head back to base. She was in sight of it when Ooyodo suddenly sprinted up to her and grabbed her by the lapels.

"What. Did. You. Shoot?" she growled, before shaking her head and grabbing the gun. "Never mind, you can tell me _after_ I lock away this mushroom-cloud-making monstrosity!"

"But-!" Yuubari tried, only to get pinned down by a furious glare. "Okay, sure."


	253. Rule 2829

**Rule 2829. Iku is not allowed to make lewd dioramas recreating important WWII battles using dolls.  
**  
One of the more recent additions to the Yokosuka naval base was a museum celebrating the greatest moments from the more accomplished ships of the old IJN. It had gotten numerous askance looks from Japan's neighbors, but since the general upwelling of nationalism in Japan had also come next to some thoroughly fiery condemnations of everything Imperial Japan did from the shipgirl force and a subsequent bout of national soul-searching, most everyone had shrugged and either moved on or just added another notch to the list of grudges with Japan.

Ironically, very few shipgirls had actually been in the museum. A combination of busy schedules and bad memories. So for Desdiv 6, led by Tatsuta today, it was their first time visiting. They oohed at Take's convoy defense, aahed at photos of Henderson Field post-Bombardment, and dove into a group hug at Inazuma and Ikazuchi's saving of Allied sailors.

And then they got to Iku's exhibit.

Slowly, all four destroyers tilted their heads at the exhibit. For the most part, it was like all the others, but a an out-of-place pedestal had been added, and on top of that was a diorama. A diorama depicting...

"... That looks really uncomfortable," Ikazuchi remarked. "So why does it look like Wasp is enjoying it? Let alone North Carolina and O'Bannon."

"If this is what being a lady means, I'm seriously rethinking being one," Akatsuki muttered.

"Hawawawawawa..." Inazuma wailed, clutching her eyes and blushing furiously.

"Bozhe moi..." Hibiki groaned, tugging her hat down over her head.

Behind them, Tatsuta had vanished.

The reason for this reaction was the diorama. On it was... there were torpedoes used in... North Carolina and O'Bannon lying in sweaty... Okay, no, this is still an SFW site, and the diorama was very much too lewd to describe in much detail. All you need to know is that Iku, torpedoes, and a lot of heaving bosoms were involved.

It was in something of a daze that the destroyers moved on, reaching the exhibit about Tenryuu's participation at Savo Island - which had also been given a lewd diorama. This time, the reaction of the destroyers wasn't surprise, confusion, or embarrassment. No, it was _anger_. Full of righteous fury for their momboat, they stormed off, ready to find Iku - and it had to be her - and give her the beating of a lifetime.

~o~

Iku staggered back home, for once not dressed in her swimsuit or something even more skimpy. She'd been hauled in front of a bunch of concerned parents from a nearby middle school and gotten yelled at for a solid hour, the officer assigned as her escort just smugly sitting next to her. Asshole.

Regardless, eventually the mothers had gotten tired of yelling at her, she'd mumbled out some insincere apology, and then staggered back towards her room, intent on getting some sleep and some sex, and not necessarily in that order. Reaching the door, she fumbled for the key, and after a few minutes managed to get it in the lock and turned and the door open.

And then she froze.

"Sorry, they insisted," Noriko Kamata sheepishly said. Beside her, Tatsuta and Desdiv 6 were glaring daggers at the submarine.

The reaction this got was not what they expected, if the confused glances exchanged were any indication. Iku just sighed, walked right passed them, and flopped onto her bed face-down.

"I have spent the last hour dealing with a bunch of _housewives_ ," she said into her mattress. "So you'll forgive me if I'm not in the mood to take my beating like a sailor."

Nonplussed, the gathered shipgirls glanced at each other and then Lieutenant Kamata, who shrugged. "We'll come back tomorrow, nanodesu," Inazuma eventually decided, before they all sheepishly shuffled out.


	254. Rule 2830

**Rule 2830. When introducing destroyer** ** _Kamikaze_** **to American ships, don't yell "Kamikaze at 2 o'clock!" She started wondering what was wrong after the tenth time, and now that she's been informed of the significance of that saying, she is not happy, and neither are the mom-boats of the U. S. destroyers you given nightmares to.  
**  
Four American destroyer escorts milled about, waiting for the convoy they were supposed to escort, as well as their fellow escorts Jenkins, a quartet of steel-hull frigates, and a Japanese destroyer dispatched to fill the gap usually filled by the _other_ destroyer usually assigned to them.

"This sucks!" USS Chase snapped, throwing her hands up. "Where is everyone?!"

"Yeah, I'm freezing my ass off here," USS Bright grumbled, rubbing her arms. Nobody mentioned that maybe wearing a sleeveless top in the Pacific Northwest wasn't the best idea.

"Impatient..." USS England sighed.

Normally, Chase and Bright would've fired off an angry retort at that, but this was _England._ Unless you were God or Samuel B. Roberts, you did not fire off angry retorts at England. USS Bowers, meanwhile, didn't even look up from her phone.

After a few minutes, Jenkins steamed up to them, a sheepish look on her face. "YOU'RE LATE!" Bright and Chase shouted at her.

"Sorry, guys," she said. "But a black cat crossed my path and I had to take the long way around."

"LIAR!"

"The convoy?" England queried.

"Eh, it's about ten miles behind me, and the Japanese destroyer should be here pretty soon, too." A grin spread over Jenkins' face. "In fact- KAMIKAZE AT 2 O'CLOCK!"

The reaction was immediate and hilarious. All four DEs screamed. England and Bowers belly-flopped onto the water, screaming "NOT THE FACE!", Bowers' phone heading straight into the drink. Bright flopped onto her back, clutching her butt and shouting "NOT MY ASS!" Chase just curled up into a little ball.

This, plus Jenkins rolling on the floor laughing her ass off, was what Kamikaze arrived to, much to her confusion. "What the heck is going on here?" she muttered.

She never did get a straight answer, but everyone calmed down in time to handle the convoy, though the DEs were jumpy the whole trip.

~o~

Kamikaze sighed at the familiar sight: USS Liddle face down on the water, USS Halloran and USS Gilligan curled up in quivering balls, and Jenkins laughing her ass off. This was the tenth time this had happened, and now she wanted answers. And could get them, since the last DE, USS Hodges, looked a bit shaken but otherwise coherent. And disgusted. Can't forget that emotion.

"So, uh, what's up with all... this?" Kamikaze asked Hodges, vaguely indicating the four incapacitated shipgirls.

Oddly, panic flitted across Hodges' face. "You mean you don't know?!" she incredulously yelped.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be asking," the destroyer harrumphed, crossing her arms.

Hodges glanced back at her fellow DEs, seemed to come to a conclusion, and then turned back to Kamikaze, face grim. "Okay, so around 1944 the Japanese started getting desperate enough to fly their planes into our ships..."

~o~

Hyuga and Nachi strode into their favorite bar - one that had banned Junyo long before they ever set foot in it - to find a new and very surprising patron slumped at the bar with several sake bottles, most presumably empty, scattered about her. The Taisho-era uniform and long dark hair pointed to it being Kamikaze, which was odd, because Fubuki aside destroyers almost never went drinking.

Which likely made it a fruitful avenue for conversation. Hyuga and Nachi strode over to where Kamikaze was lying, splitting up to sit on either side of her, and with their own sake placed in front of them, Nachi asked, "So, what brings you to our little watering hole?"

Blearily, Kamikaze lifted her head up, clearly drunk off her ass. "Hyuga?" she slurred. Slowly, she turned to Hyuga. "Nachi?"

"It's not often we find a destroyer utterly blitzed," the battleship picked up. "We're curious."

For a moment, silence. And the Kamikaze's face scrunched up, tears welled in her eyes, and she started _bawling._ "My country went insa-ha-hane!"

Nachi and Hyuga exchanged a look and both sighed. Damn Aoba; there was over a million yen in that pool. Still, they had the more immediate problem of consoling a drunken, bawling destroyer. That took priority.

"There, there," Nachi said, rubbing Kamikaze's back. "We've all had that realization."

"And not all of us were lucky enough to figure it out in the 40s," Hyuga added. "Damn flight decks..."


	255. Rule 2831

**Rule 2831: No using the coal fire ship girls to burn the trash paper work.  
**  
Once again, Omaha and Somers found themselves shoveling paper into a shredding machine. What had landed them this punishment? Well...

"This is all your fault," Omaha grumbled in between shoveling in paper.

"My fault?" Somers snapped. "Who was the one who decided we should stick around to doodle on Admiral Briggs' face? Not me!"

"You sure weren't protesting when I gave you the marker!" Omaha fired back, prompting the destroyer leader to flush. "And besides the fact that _I'm_ not the one that drew a penis on his forehead, we were only even in his office because it was _your_ idea!"

"Because I was trying to bail _you_ out! Otherwise, your permanent record would have-"

"HEY!"

Both shipgirls froze and furtively glanced towards their supervisor, Wasp, who was looking mildly peeved at their bickering - and then their eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when they saw that she was naked.

"Not that I'm entirely uninterested in hearing you two dig your grave deeper, but I'd prefer less bickering and more working!" the carrier barked. "And what are you looking at, anyway?"

"W-Wasp..." Somers stammered. "Y-You're..."

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU NAKED?!" Omaha roared.

"I'm what?" Wasp blinked, then looked down, at which point she leapt to her feet. "Ah, dammit, not again!"

"What do you mean, again?!"

"I'll be right back!" Wasp announced as she sprinted out of the shredder room. Though she paused in the door to glare at her two charges. "Don't. Move." And then, she was gone.

For several minutes, Omaha and Somers stared after their erstwhile supervisor, arms mechanically continuing to move paper. "Well, that happened," Omaha eventually said.

"Well, at least we can take a break," Somers sighed, falling on her butt. Omaha joined her, and for another few minutes they sat there, together.

Finally, Somers broke the silence.

"Y'know, this would be a lot easier if we could just _burn_ all this old paperwork."

Omaha snorted derisively. "Yeah, and how're we going to do that? Just carry it all to the incinerator? Right, like _that's_ inconspicuous."

"Nah, I was thinking we could get a coal-burning shipgirl to eat it."

Another snort. "Right, like some coal-burner is just going to _walk in here_ at random or something."

The door opened, and Omaha and Somers sat up in time to see an unfamiliar - to Somers, at least. Omaha was struck by a sense of deja vu - face walk in. Her build was that of a cruiser, but shorter, stockier, and larger in the chest region than most of the fleet's cruisers. Her eyes slid over Somers to lock onto Omaha. "Ah, Omaha, good. I ran into Wasp..." The cruiser trailed off, muttering something under her breath. "Anyway, she asked me to keep an eye on you guys."

Omaha squinted her eyes at the cruiser, wracking her brain for why she seemed familiar. Somers was more vocal.

"Okay, who the hell are you, and why should we listen to you?"

"Because she could totally kick our asses," Omaha cut in. "You're Seattle, right?"

"Yup," Seattle grinned, mostly due to Somers paling at the thought of charging the cruiser's potent mix of 10" and 6" guns. "Now, I think you've had enough of a break. Hop to it."

Instead of going back to shredding, though, Somers and Omaha turned to Seattle, a gleam entering their eyes. Seattle had just enough time to open her mouth to ask what the hell they were doing when they jumped her.

~o~

"Gotta do something about that stripping habit..." Wasp grumbled as she made her way back to the shredder room. "One of these days it's gonna get me in trouble. Maybe I could talk to Admiral Briggs about a psychologist, he'd jump all over it..."

Reaching the door, she opened it, announced, "I'm back, Seattle!"-

And then froze at the sight in front of her: Omaha and Somers with paper in hand, standing over a tied-up Seattle, who had more paper stuffed in her mouth and had turned a pleading, helpless look on Wasp. For a long moment, nobody moved. And then Wasp grinned and cracked her knuckles.

"Someone's asking for a _pounding..._ "


	256. Rule 2833

**Rule 2833. Steeping green tea bags in Coca-Cola is not a substitute for navy coffee, or any GOOD coffee.  
**  
Morning in the Yamaprise household was inaugurated with an unusual sight: a zombie tumbling down the stairs. Briefly, the zombie just laid on the floor, moaning, and then it hauled itself to its feet and shuffled over to the coffee machine and the grinder. Unfortunately, both were empty. Moaning, the zombie shuffled over to one of the nearby cabinets, opened it, and reached for a bag, opening it up and upending it into the grinder. As the zombie let the contents be shredded, it reached for a bottle kept on the counter for just this occasion and poured it into the coffee machine.

Soon enough, the grinder was finished, and the zombie, through raw muscle memory, retrieved a filter and poured the contents of the grinder in. That was the last thing that needed to be done before starting the coffee machine, and so it was started.

For five minutes, the zombie stood there as the coffee machine did its work. The drip cut off, and the zombie took the pot, lifted it up to take a sip-

And then Enterprise sprayed the foul whatever-the-hell she'd been drinking all over the wall, because this sure as _hell_ wasn't coffee!

"What did I _make?_ " she wondered, bewildered. Luckily, the ingredients she'd grabbed were still out there, and told the story: a bag full of green tea bags instead of her usual bag of coffee beans, and a 2-liter of Coca-Cola rather than the purified water Enterprise normally used in her coffee. And a glance at both the grinder and filter confirmed that yes, she'd ground up the tea bags. Which explained the wet paper taste.

Enterprise reached for the pot, intent on tossing out the foul mixture, but paused. That one sip, even unswallowed, had woken her up just as well as a cup of coffee would. Granted, some of that was almost certainly due to the foul taste, but what if she did a proper steeping?

With that thought in mind, the carrier still grabbed the pot and dumped it out in the sink (and made a mental note to clean everything. Thoroughly.) before grabbing a saucepan and the Coke. Once it was boiled, and being careful not to over-boil it, she poured it into a mug and put in a tea bag. Then another, after a moment's thought.

It took another few minutes for the steeping to finish, and Enterprise took the mug and lifted it to her lips.

~o~

Upstairs, Yamato stepped out of the shower clad in a towel and much more awake than her wife. Quickly getting dressed in a robe, she checked to make sure Yoshino was still asleep and then padded downstairs, where Enterprise almost certainly was.

Of course, she wasn't expecting Enterprise to be standing bolt upright, a rather creepy and wide smile on her face and her eyes bulging and bloodshot.

"E?" Yamato asked hesitantly, waving a hand in front of her wife's face.

Slowly, and far too stiffly to be natural, Enterprise turned her head in Yamato's direction.

"I see the truth!" the carrier declared, holding up a mug. "And I must share it with as many people as possible!" And then... she vanished.

"... This can't be good," Yamato said, before dashing for the nearest phone.

~o~

Ten minutes later, Yamato jogged into the naval base, Yoshino happily hanging onto her back. Chaos reigned. Shipgirls and sailors alike cowered in whatever mean hiding spots they could find, or else sprinted towards a... catfight between Akatsuki and Kongo. Probably. The rumors were hushed and it was entirely possible she'd misheard something, a possibility Yamato hoped was true.

Regardless, she pressed on, following the stream of people fleeing... something, and was rewarded by eventually finding the sight of Yuudachi, fully encased in a black, wolf-shaped aura, dueling Ashigara and her _blue-_ colored aura. Set off to the side of the battle - which was fierce, fast, and steadily shredding the concrete walls - were the four Shimakaze sisters, and in the gaps between them, she could see bits of Enterprise's pajamas.

"Fools! Let me go! I must spread the word!"

Her deranged shouting was also something of a clue.

Yamato set upon to musing how to break Enterprise out of whatever state she was in, but Ookaze shouting "Hey, you stupid hotel! Get your girlfriend to calm down already!" broke her out of her thoughts, which made her next course of action very clear. Putting on a very plastic smile, Yamato walked over to the pile, and handed Yoshino over to Ookaze.

"Here, you watch her," the battleship said, before turning to the other three Shimakaze sisters. "If you could let her up, please?"

(Ookaze balefully eyed the toddler in her arms. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"Play fly!" Yoshino chirped, waving her chubby arms.

Ookaze sighed. "Yeah, okay. How do we-")

"You're the boss," Shimakaze sighed. At that, the destroyers clambered up, Enterprise stood-

And then Yamato slapped her square on the cheek.

For a long moment, the only sound was the ongoing battle behind them. And then Enterprise blinked and held her hand up to the spot she'd been slapped.

"Thank you," she said, dazed. "I-I-I don't know what came over me."

"Oh, no problem," Yamato said, still with that serene smile on her face. "Now-"

Suddenly, Ookaze came flying out of nowhere and hit Yamato square in the ribs. The serene smile now marred by a small spray of blood, both Yamato and Ookaze continued on, through the wall and out of sight.

Enterprise blinked. So did Shimakaze, Soyokaze, and Kiyokaze, and as they did so, Enterprise glanced at the mug in her hand.

"Okay, yeah, _definitely_ no more of this stuff for me..."


	257. Rule 2835

**Rule 2835. We are not changing the uniforms for shorts and baby oil.  
**  
Yavuz Sultan Selim's head was on a swivel as she walked through Taranto. Morale was visibly awful in the base, at least among the Italian shipgirls. Every single one was hunched over, emitting an aura of gloom, curled up in a corner, or some other form of miserable. The US Navy shipgirls on loan were in better shape, but they were visibly skittish, nervously eyeing their Italian allies.

Shaking her head, the battlecruiser picked up the pace, arriving at the Admiral's office about five minutes early. She reached up and knocked, getting a muffled "Come in!", and opening the door revealed a bit of auburn hair poking above massive stacks of paper.

"Roma? Is that you?" Yavuz asked.

The auburn hair jerked, and then was raised up by Roma, revealing her entire head. "Oh, Yavuz, you're early."

"Yeah..." the battlecruiser said, staring at the paperwork. "Shouldn't you have a staff to handle this?"

"Italian bureaucracy," Roma damn near spat. "Add in that nobody wants the job, and I've been waiting four months for some help. I don't expect it to come." Sighing, the battleship shoved aside one of the stacks to better reveal herself. "Come on, sit down, I need the break."

Yavuz sat, and asked the question on her mind: "What's up with everyone else? Morale looks like it's gone straight down the toilet."

"That's because it has," Roma sighed, again. "Between the disaster at Malta and Admiral Colombo going off the deep end, morale could only hold so long, and it's dropped like a stone the last week."

Yavuz frowned. "Why this last week?"

"I don't know!" Roma wailed, throwing up her hands. "I can barely keep this base afloat, let alone try and _anticipate_ new problems!" Tears welling in her eyes, Roma threw her head on her arms and began sobbing loudly.

For Yavuz, the whole situation was thoroughly awkward. Reflexively glancing around the room, she scooted her chair forward and began to pat Roma's head. "There, there..."

The sobs paused, a muffled "Don't patronize me..." wafting out from between Roma's arms.

"You, miss, need a vacation," Yavuz declared. "I'd recommend the Turkish coast, but-" Suddenly, her eyes widened as an idea came to her. You could practically see the lightbulb. "Oh, i~de~a~! A little something to pick morale up."

Instantly, Roma was up and holding Yavuz by her lapels, a wild look in the battleship's eyes.

"Tell me!"

~o~

The next day, the naval base was treated to a very odd sight: every man in the base dressed not in their usual uniforms, but leather short shorts, knee-length lace-up boots, and lots of glistening baby oil. Disgruntled expressions were the order of the day, at least among the human personnel. The many shipgirls and female human sailors were quite appreciative of the sight... for the most part. Some of the paper-pushers had very clearly been slacking on their PT requirements.

Roma watched all this via the base's security cameras, smiling happily. She made a mental note to send Yavuz a thank-you card and present for this idea.

Movement caught her eye, and she saw Seaman Moretti furtively sneak around a corner and then press himself against the wall. She grinned; Moretti was widely known as the base's Most Eligible Bachelor, and many an Italian shipgirl had tied themselves in knots trying to work up the courage to ask him out. Or just ask him for a one-night stand. Or jump his bones, in a few unfortunate cases. Roma herself was mostly just interested in watching.

And those many hours of observation pretty quickly lead to her to a surprising conclusion: Moretti was _terrified_. She could see it in the sweat on his body and the wild look in his eyes, both things that not only got worse but were joined by a sudden stiffening as a pack of shipgirls ran past, led by Bolzano.

 _"Remember, girls!"_ the heavy cruiser declared. _"You_ can _overuse a dick, so when starts complaining about his dick hurting, it's time to stop!"_

 _"Yeah!"_

It didn't take a genius to realize the implications. Roma groaned and brought her hand to her face. "So much for this idea..." she sighed, glancing at some of the other feeds. Sure enough, similar scenes were playing out all over the base. And conspicuously absent were the Americans.

Roma quickly pulled out her phone and dialed a number. "Quincy? Yes, I have a favor to ask of you..."


	258. Rule 2837

**Rule 2837. We would like to thank all shipgirls involved in our latest recruitment effort. Both morale** ** _and_** **recruits have skyrocketed.  
**  
 _She was the personification of Japanese elegance, tall, willowy, and graceful, her parasol draped over her shoulder and massive triple turrets representing the other side of traditional Japanese femininity._

"We are hope," said Yamato.

She was the embodiment of Prussian efficiency, severe, formal, and with impressively lustrous blonde hair. A flight deck sat on one arm, a card holder at her hip, and several casemated guns around her waist.

"We are honor," said Graf Zeppelin.

She looked no older than twelve, her auburn hair drawn up into two pigtails. The freckles dotting her face, only a few hidden behind her wide lenses, only completed the image of a young, innocent girl.

"We are courage," said William D. Porter.

Another blonde, though this time dressed more appropriately for the balmy Pacific. A quiver of arrows hung over her back; one arm held a flight deck, the other a modern compound bow. Somehow, she radiated authority.

"We are justice," said Enterprise.

The next shipgirl stepped forward, her gun turrets and hat lowered in a show of solemnity.

"We... are compassion," Bismarck said, her voice wobbling slightly.

Another shipgirl, this time with a manic grin on her face and a fire blazing in her eyes, almost literally. And yet, the eyes were the only place you could see it. The rest of her demeanor was the epitome of calm.

"We are determination," said Hood.

Stepping up in the middle was a tough-looking girl, eyepatch and all. There was determination there, yes, but it was directed... differently than with Hood.

"We are harmony," said Tenryuu.

All seven shipgirls leaned into a bow, stood upright again - and then a blue-haired girl in a swimsuit that utterly failed to contain her... impressive assets practically mugged the camera.

"We are [EXPLETIVE DELETED] and [REDACTED] and [SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!]" Iku announced, grinning, two V-signs held up. She just finished when a gloved hand grabbed the back of her head, yanked her back, and slammed her into a nearby wall. The view of Tenryuu and Iku was promptly obscured by the other six shipgirls, violence clearly impending. And thus did violence occur.

One more shipgirl popped up, tall, muscular, and with a grin on her face that could only be described as "shit-eating".

 _"We are_ badass _,"_ New Jersey grinned. _"New Jersey, out!"_

~o~

The video footage cut out, Admirals Hartmann, Holloway, and Goto frowning at the screen.

"We can't show this," Hartmann immediately declared. "We would be crucified, possibly literally, for this."

"Are you kidding me?!" Holloway demanded. "It's perfect! We've got the good, professional bit for the general media, and then the sex, screwball comedy, and dare to be badass for the stupid young men we're _actually_ targeting! And all in less than thirty seconds, too!"

"Besides," Goto added, ever the voice of reason. "Do you really think we're going to be able to get those seven together again anytime soon?"

Hartmann sighed, conceding the point. The problem with getting seven of the heroes of the Abyssal war together for an advertisement was, well, they were heroes. They were in demand just about everywhere, and it was a minor miracle they'd gotten them all together for this shoot. And they'd only even had time for that one take.

"You really think this will work," Hartmann stated to his colleagues.

"I think it will go viral," Holloway answered. "And really, that's all we need to reel them in."

Goto nodded in agreement. "You would not believe how many IJN fanboys volunteered for the JMSDF back when shipgirls first appeared. This will likely hit the same demographic."

"Fine," Hartmann sighed again. "Release it. But I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' if and when this blows up in our faces."


	259. Rule 2840

**Rule 2840. All destroyers are reminded to doff their rigging before getting on playground equipment.  
**  
Nicholas gritted her teeth as an Abyssal destroyer demolished yet another storefront on its way to the street in front of her. She had been shepherding civilians _out_ of the small town her squadron was fighting in, and now this Abyssal was between her and about half the crowd. As such, using her guns was liable to kill someone, even if all five were on target. So as the Abyssal opened its mouth to fire its gun, Nicholas charged the beast and grappled with its jaws, trying to wrestle it to the ground so she could safely shoot it.

 _'I immediately regret this decision!'_ was her thought when she made contact. Rather than go down, the Abyssal immediately began bucking like a skittish mustang, taking her clean off her feet. It was all Nicholas could do to hold on and not get thrown off.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Nicholas _was_ thrown off, right into a nearby park. Groaning, she hauled herself to her feet, muttering "Gonna feel _that_ tomorrow..." - and then grinned. Because the Abyssal was now standing in front of nothing but a boarded-up old theater. Up went her guns, bang-bang went the shells, and then the Abyssal was dead.

"Thank God that's over," she muttered, right before her radio hissed to life.

 _"Yo, Nikky,"_ came De Haven's voice. _"We've just finished mop-up on our end, but we're missing one. Did you-"  
_  
"Yeah, I got it. If you guys are done, I'm right next to the town park, so if you could meet me here, we can-"

Nicholas' eyes, which had been scanning the park, fell on a play structure sitting in the middle of a patch of woodchips, from appearances brand spanking new.

"Play on the playground here for a bit," she finished.

 _"Yay!"_ And then the radio shut off.

By her estimates, Nicholas figured it would take about four minutes for her sisters to get to the playground. She also knew that it would be better to take advantage of having the playground all to herself while she could. And so, smiling and skipping like the child she appeared to be, Nicholas clambered up the play structure, sat down to go down the slide - and then, with only an ominous creaking sound as her warning, the entire play structure collapsed around her ears. Oh, and the wreckage had quite thoroughly pinned her, 60,000 shp or not.

And so it was that she was only let out by Chevalier hauling a large chunk of plastic and metal off of her, the other destroyer's face studiously blank.

"You forgot to take off your rigging," Chevalier deadpanned.

"Aheheheheh..." Nicholas chuckled. "Oops?"

~o~

A few days later, and on the other side of the Pacific, Desdiv 6 were taking a bit of shore leave during one of their coastal expeditions. Ice cream had been acquired, and now they were walking down the street, chatting.

That chatter stopped dead when they walked past a park with a playground on it. Immediately, the destroyers stopped and turned max-strength puppy-dog eyes on Tenryuu, who immediately and gladly caved.

"Alright, girls," she said, raising a hand as they all tried to charge off. "But take off your rigging, okay? We don't want to be like those American destroyers."

"Yes, Tenryuu!"

Creeee- CRUNCH!

Tenryuu sighed, tears welled in the eyes of her destroyers, and the cruiser turned around to find Ryujo, rigging fully deployed, sitting on the crumpled remains of the playground. "Uh, oops?" she said.

"What are you even doing here?" Tenryuu asked in a tired, defeated voice.

"Well, there was apparently a battleship in the area-"

"Oh, yeah. We killed it, nanodesu."

Ryujo chuckled nervously at that. "Yeah, I noticed... and then I saw this playground and figured, why not indulge?"

"Well, good job," Tenryuu snarked. "Because now you've made my girls sad."

As if on cue, tears welled up in her destroyers' eyes. Even Ikazuchi's. The look on Ryujo's face was _hilarious._


	260. Rule 2841

**Rule 2841. Any and all plans to steal ice-cream trucks are to be halted/abandoned immediately./Rule 2842. Any and all plans to raid an ice-cream factory are to be halted/abandoned immediately.**

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 **Topic: Ice Cream Thread 2  
In: Boards ► Global ► General Discussion ► Life On Shore  
Jerry **(Original Poster) (Ice Cream Barge)  
Posted On Jan 21st 2019:  
200 pages, new thread, yadda yadda you all know the drill. Suggestions for new flavors to stock are still being accepted, but hurry, only two more days before I need to start prepping in earnest.

And I guess I should finally say where I'm going to be setting up. Guess who has two hands, a lot of ice cream, and just got a spot in the coveted Pike Place Market? This gal! Bremerton girls, you'll know where to find me. For everyone else, there's Google.

 **(Showing page 101 of 167)  
►Murdermansk **(USN) (CL-5) (USS Milwaukee (1922))  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
And this is why I keep telling everyone that they need to learn how to make their own damn ice cream. It cuts down on incidents like this, and you can still go shopping for the more exotic flavors.

Also, it just tastes better. Jerry's products aside, of course.

 **►GoldenState** (USN) (Movie Star) (BB-44)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Murdermansk  
I WILL FITE YOU SWEAR ON ME MUM

 **►Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (USN) (DD-513)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Keep it civil and on topic, people.

And not just because of the rules. If you'll excuse me, I need to go back to laughing my ass off.

 **►LEEERRROOOYYY** (USN) (DD-447)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Yeah, about that. Does anyone have a tl;dr of that article?

 **►KGVII** (USN) (Spotter) (DE-697)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
One word: Archerfish. Guess she got a serious hankering for ice cream, because y'know that ice cream van that does the rounds near the base every day?

Yeah, she stole it.

 **►BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Wait, hang on!

Are you telling me that we actually have _witnesses_ for an impossible submarine theft?!

 **►KGVII** (USN) (Spotter) (DE-697)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Uh, yes? I'm pretty sure, anyway.

 **►BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Opportunity! BRB, going to talk to the ice cream man.

 **► Call_Sign_Illustrate** (USN) (Post-War Veteran) (CA-75) (Helena (1945))  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Uh, so, does anyone *else* remember the last time a Mad Science shipgirl investigated submarine theft? Or anything that might involve "bigger on the inside"?

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **...** **99,** **100,** **101,** **102,** **103** **...** **165** **,** **166** **,** **167**

 **(Showing page 102 of 167)  
►Blazing_Phoenix **(USN) (Post-War Veteran) (Scientist Boat) (CL-46)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Oh, so that's why SoDak came blazing past me like her hair was on fire. And before anyone asks, yes, I do know how fast that is. Exactly.

Anyway, goddammit, SoDak! Now I have to break out the revivification equipment! You know how finicky that stuff is! I swear, if I have to inject Galvanic Essence straight into your aorta again I _will_ set fire to that pile of shit taste you call a bookshelf!

Sorry, girls, I'll be right back.

 **► Fightingest Steel City** (USN) (CL-62)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Okay... that happened...

 **►Gone Fishin'** (USN) (Verified Badass) (BB-71)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Uh, does anyone else find it odd, or scary, or flatly, existentially terrifying that whatever it is that lets the subs do what they do _kills people_ when they try to figure it out? And that it happens to SoDak so often that Phoenix has a procedure in place to _bring her back to life?  
_

 **►C &C 49 **(USN) (Secretary Boat) (CVL-49)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Gone Fishin'  
You raise a good point. In fact, you raise a few good points.

As a counterargument, _fuck_ South Dakota for being one of the biggest fucking headaches I have to deal with.

 **►Gone Fishin'** (USN) (Verified Badass) (BB-71)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Well, can't argue with that.

 **►August Coon** (Moderator) (USN) (Royal Yacht) (CA-31)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
C&C 49, we'll let it slide because we all have some idea of what you go through with South Dakota, but please try to moderate your language.

 **►Death Rides A DE** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Taffy 3) (DE-413)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Guys, guys! Emergency! We have a disaster, a catastrophe on our hands! It's terrible, awful, the worst! Possible! Thing!

There's no ice cream ration today!

 **► FirstToJapan** (USN) (Unverified Boat) (Not a Skitter) (DD-468)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Okay, I was gonna say Sammy is overreacting - again - BUT THIS IS DEFINITELY THE WORST POSSIBLE THING!

HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?!

 **► JDS Asakaze** (USN) (Naturalized Japanese) (DD-454)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ RIOT ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

 **►Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (USN) (DD-513)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Okay, I know I'm supposed to be one of the responsible ones, but fuck that shit! I say we go to the commissary and demand answers! And if we don't like those answers, we start breaking shit!

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **, ...** **100,** **101,** **102,** **103,** **104** **...** **165,** **166** **,** **167**

 **(Showing page 103 of 167)  
► DangerMagnet **(CrossroadsClub) (USN) (DD-390)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Yes! I'm with you 100 billion %, Terry!

 **► Randy_And_Savage** (USN) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (DE-386)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Did someone say something about breaking shit? Because if so, I'm totally in!

 **►Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (USN) (DD-513)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
We don't have an ice cream ration today, so we're rioting.

 **► Randy_And_Savage** (USN) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (DE-386)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
WHAT?! NO ICE CREAM?! MORE SMASHING TO BE DONE, THNE!

 **►TheNick** (USN) (Verified Momboat) (DD-449)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
I'll get Willy and the rest, Terry! You have my sword!

 **►NamedForLake** (Coast Guard) (WHEC-40)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
*ahem*

Ladies, I can't help but notice that you all seem to be plotting something highly disruptive and illegal. Please tell me I'm wrong, else I might have to start... arresting people.

 **►HMAster Blaster** (Moderator) (Royal Australian Navy) (D84)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
And since the bloody Yank mods are all either busy or just as insane about ice cream as the rest of you, consider this an official mod directive to cut this shit out. Thank you.

 **►NamedForLake** (Coast Guard) (WHEC-40)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Oh, and one more thing: Milwaukee's totally right about making your own ice cream. Just make sure not to use Californian milk.

*OFFICIAL MOD WARNING: This is baiting, and you know it.*

 **►GoldenState** (USN) (Movie Star) (BB-44)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
*snip*

*USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: Of course, that doesn't mean you should *swallow* the bait, just FYI.*

 **►TheNick** (USN) (Verified Momboat) (DD-449)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Well, that happened, too.

Anyway, yes ma'am, will definitely call off everyone else, ma'am.

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **...** **101,** **102,** **103,** **104,** **105** **...** **165** **,** **166** **,** **167**

 **(Showing page 104 of 167)  
►Tin_Can_Sister **(Moderator) (USN) (DD-513)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
What Nicholas said, yeah.

 **►neeDD4speed** (USN) (DD-828)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Don't worry, guys, I have a solution, and it's *not* illegal! See, there's this ice cream factory that's about ten miles from here, we can just go directly to the supplier!

And then, we can... persuade them to let go of some ice cream at a... discounted rate.

 **►NamedForLake** (Coast Guard) (WHEC-40)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Uh, that would be some variety of coercion, and that's _also_ illegal.

 **►neeDD4speed** (USN) (DD-828)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Curses! Who ratted out the plan to the narcs?!

 **►TheShipThatWillNotDie** (USN) (Museum Boat) (DD-724)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
This is a _public thread_ , dingus. Anyone can read it. Including the cutters.

 **►SquirrelySpookShip** (USN) (Museum Boat) (AGER-2)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
More to the point, the actual ice cream ration should be ready to be served in about fifteen minutes.

Side note, you girls really need to calm down about the ice cream. Assuming they get it out on time, it's an hour and a half after the usual time.

 **► Randy_And_Savage** (USN) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (DE-386)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
AND THAT'S AN HOUR AND A HALF TOO LATE!

 **►KGVII** (USN) (Spotter) (DE-697)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Okay, calm the fuck down, Savage. SquirrelySpookShip, would you happen to know _whu_ the ice cream is late today?

 **►SquirrelySpookShip** (USN) (Museum Boat) (AGER-2)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Someone ate the stock last night. Now, I'm not naming names, but who was reported to have been dumped again after another disastrous date last night?

 **► JDS Asakaze** (USN) (Naturalized Japanese) (DD-454)  
Replied On Mar 6th 2019:  
Los Angeles! That fiend!

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **, ...** **102,** **103,** **104,** **105,** **106** **...** **165** **,** **166** **,** **167**


	261. Rule 2846

**Rule 2846: It is reminded that provoking Canada Geese is highly, highly ill-advised.  
**  
It was finally time. HMS Minotaur had been summoned, and very quickly reassigned as HMCS Ontario, finally giving the Canadian Navy a shipgirl more powerful than a destroyer. After a quick training course in the Maritimes, she was promptly packed into an airliner and flown west to Vancouver, where the Canadian Navy actually _needed_ a heavy ship. Relatively speaking.

The point being, by the time she actually arrived to the front lines, Ontario was exhausted, inexperienced, and her head swimming with information that was _all_ important. So she could be forgiven for being a little confused fresh off the plane.

"Izzat a goose?" she muttered, pointing at something on the tarmac.

Micmac followed the finger to find a Canada Goose milling about on the runway, and sighed. "Yes, that's a goose. They're going to need to drive 'em off again, or shoot them all."

It took Ontario's tired brain to form the right words. "So they're a nuisance?"

"That, and downright dangerous if a jet engine swallows one," Micmac replied, tugging at the cruiser's sleeve. "Now come on. We need to get you settled in, and you look like you're five minutes from falling asleep."

Still half out of it, Ontario allowed herself to be led into a staff car and to the naval base, whereupon she flopped onto her bed and immediately fell asleep.

~o~

The sun was high in the sky the next morning when Ontario walked into the mess, the few sailors still present giving her a lusty cheer that made her blush. Quickly getting her food, she sat down next to Micmac, who had been waiting for her if the stack of newspapers on the table in front of her was any indication.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," the destroyer said.

"Yeah, yeah..." Ontario grumbled, before tearing into her food. "Sho, wash th' pl'n f'r t'day?"

"Swallow, then talk," Micmac admonished. "Anyway, not much until after lunch. The next convoy's not for another week or so. Basically, you have the morning off, and then afternoon training."

Ontario nodded in between bites. In that case, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. The base was big, and so she wanted to explore it, both for fun and to familiarize herself with the layout. No asking corvettes for directions here, nosirree!

And so, when she finished her breakfast, the cruiser set out!

Sadly, the exploration was not as interesting as she expected. Mostly, it was just bare concrete hallways with doors set at intervals. After the first building, she simply wandered outside, finding a lawn overrun with Canada geese - and an Abyssal. A small, cute Abyssal with dark skin wearing very human clothes, but still an Abyssal!

Ontario gritted her teeth. These geese were dangerous, that much had been made clear to her yesterday. And now they were letting not only the geese, but an _Abyssal_ onto the base?! No. Everyone else might be okay with this danger, but she was not! And if she had to do it alone, she would! Summoning her rigging, she let out a roar of challenge and charged the geese, scattering them. Success!

The Abyssal didn't react, except to try and take her head off via punch. Ontario skipped back and out of the way, warily eyeing the monster. The monster, for her part, cutely shouted, [Hey, what's the big idea?!]

Gritting her teeth, Ontario summoned her rigging - and immediately yelped as Nii-chan dashed up, ripped a turret off her rigging, and attempted to smash her head in with it.

And that was when the geese came back. With friends.

~o~

Huron walked through the halls, keeping an eye out for Ontario. Everyone had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of the cruiser, as much for the gossip potential as her combat utility. New summons were _always_ good for some yucks, and Micmac had reported that Ontario was exploring the base. Hopefully there'd be a nice random encounter.

Suddenly, Huron's ears picked up on a faint sound of screaming coming from... outside?

Jogging up to the nearest window, the destroyer poked her head out just in time to see Ontario run screaming past it. A goose was parked on top of her head, pecking at every square inch of face it could get at; three more geese were attempting to beat their wings on every square inch they could reach; and Nii-chan and almost fifty more geese were chasing her, honking and screaming up a total racket.

"Huh..." Huron muttered as the craziness ran past. "Did someone seriously forget to tell her about the geese? And Allied Abyssals?" Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. "Shit! I didn't take a picture!"


	262. Rule 2856

**Rule 2856. Iku is not allowed to make more "Morale Rallies".  
**  
Roma groaned, resisting the urge to smash her desk with her forehead. The boost to morale from the "leather shorts and baby oil" stunt had proved fleeting, plunging Taranto back into the depths of utter despair. Desperate, she had put out a general plea for ideas to boost morale in the absence of having everyone go out and kill something.

So far, nothing but taunts. The urge to headdesk was swept away by a sudden surge of rage for Strasbourg. That damn frog! How dare she!

The ping of a fresh email shook Roma from her fantasies, and she quickly checked it to find that it was from a Japanese submarine, I-19. Opening the email, she scanned it over, mentally wincing at the rather atrocious grammar. Yeah, this was run through an online translator for sure. Regardless, it was readable enough, and the proposal looked sound. The battleship thus quickly typed up a reply saying yes and sent it off.

The next morning, the reply came, stating that the submarine was on her way and that no materials needed to be provided. Satisfied, Roma copied the date and quickly sent out an all-hands email telling everyone to mark their calendars. And then, she put it out of her mind.

~o~

Zara yawned, though she tried valiantly to suppress it. It was half past way-too-freaking-early, she hadn't had time to make her usual morning espresso, and now they were standing on a field in the cold morning air waiting for... something. The email had been cagey. Regardless, of the thousands of shipgirls and human personnel, the only one who looked happy was Roma, who had an eager smile on her face.

Yawning again, Zara resigned herself to sit back and wait.

About five minutes later, she heard the sound of a marching band in the distance. The sound steadily grew louder, and then Zara could see the procession. And her eyes nearly popped out of her sockets.

The band itself was all-female, their uniforms sleeveless sailor minidresses with white berets. Much flapping was going on. But they were nothing compared to the girl - no, woman - leading it in what was clearly supposed to be a majorette uniform of some kind. But most majorette uniforms had more than a heart-shaped crotch sticker between the bottom of the breastbone and mid-thigh. It kind of clashed horribly with the rest of the outfit, which actually _looked_ like a majorette uniform.

The band steadily fanned out, separating into four squares in the grass in front of the bleachers everyone was sitting in. The majorette, who Zara now recognized as Iku, stepped up between the front two squares, gave her baton a twirl, and then stomped her foot. The music cut out.

"Greetings, Taranto!" the submarine announced in horribly accented Spanish. "And welcome to your morale rally!"

That seemed to be the cue for a pack of _cheerleaders_ to start back-flipping in, the moves quite clearly showing off that they _weren't_ wearing the usual shorts or bloomers most cheerleaders wore under their skirts.

A lusty cheer rose up from the stands from all the male sailors, while Zara could only watch in slack-jawed amazement. She wasn't seriously doing this, was she?

And then the Turkish wrestlers arrived, the women joined in on the cheering, and a single solitary thought ran through Zara's head.

 _'Fuck it.'_

~o~

Roma happily hummed as she cut through her paperwork like a buzzsaw. The morale rally had worked. Even after the initial high had worn off, morale was at... acceptable levels. And it would get better with a nice full-fleet sortie, assuming the intel coming from the Greeks was good.

Suddenly, her phone rang, and Roma picked it up with a cheery "Hello?" The blistering tirade that followed lasted a good ten minutes, and when the woman on the line finally hung up Roma was struck with a sudden realization _why_ foreigners had the Italian Mother stereotype.

And then the phone rang again.

"Oh, this is gonna suck," Roma groaned, reaching for the phone.


	263. Rule 2858

**Rule 2858. Old laptops are not to be used as "emergency sandwiches" for "on the field repairs".  
**  
"Augh!"

Hornet winced as Yorktown ate a bomb to the side that did a nice job wrecking her flight deck. Then it was put out of her mind due to her frantic efforts to _not_ end up in the same position. That meant much ducking, weaving, and hopping, all while firing her antiaircraft guns and keeping track of her strike group. It was a marvel of multitasking that no normal human could've accomplished.

Between her gunners, evasion, and plain old luck - the usual combination, really - Hornet managed to weather the Abyssal attack with nothing more than a few splinter wounds to show for it. Heaving a sigh of relief, she looked around.

Amazingly, the rest of the task force was only somewhat worse off than her. San Francisco was nursing a bomb hit, Laffey had the expression of someone who'd had a close encounter with a torpedo, and just about everyone had splinter or autocannon damage somewhere on them. The only exception was Yorktown, with her flight deck still wrecked and-

Hornet's brain, upon receiving the information sent via the optic nerve, froze up trying to process it, stayed that way very briefly, and then rebooted. Yorktown hadn't acquired any additional damage. She had also pulled out an ancient Acer laptop and had opened her mouth to take a bit out of it, like it was some sort of sandwich.

All of this happened in less than a second. And yet, Essex still beat her to the punch.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Yorktown, what the hell are you doing!"

The elder carrier paused, looking confused. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Eating a laptop?" Hornet ventured.

"Yup!"

"But why though," Independence chimed in.

"To replenish my stores for repair work, obviously!" And before anyone could stop her, Yorktown chomped down on the laptop. After that, the other three carriers could only watch in slack-jawed amazement while Yorktown polished off the snack - and then stuck her tongue. "Blagh, tastes _awful_. Which means it definitely works!"

For a good five minutes, the only sound was a gull cawing overhead and the sound of Yorktown biting and chewing on the laptop. All too soon, it was gone, and the carrier held up her flight deck and glared at it.

"C'mon, repair already!"

A fairy popped its head out of one of the bomb holes, glared up at Yorktown, and then launched into a blistering tirade the other carriers were too distant to hear. All three surreptitiously tried to creep closer, only for the fairy to hide away again, at which point Yorktown suddenly hunched over and began retching.

Any semblance of "creeping" died there, and the other three carriers flatly sprinted to Yorktown's side, Hornet reaching her first.

"Yorktown, what's wrong?"

"I don' feel zo good..." she slurred, drool leaking out of her mouth.

"Medic!"

~o~

Hornet - the 1941 Hornet - sighed at the unconscious form of her sister. "You're supposed to be the _competent_ one of us, dammit," she muttered under her breath.

"You say something?" Medusa queried.

"Nothing," Hornet sighed, shaking her head. "What's the damage?"

Nodding, Medusa pulled up a chart and looked it over. "Basically, shipgirl digestive systems, for all that they'll handle steel, aluminum, and oil just fine, aren't nearly as good at digesting that much plastic, let alone all the other materials that go into a laptop. Basically clogged up... well, the whole system really." Medusa was still for a moment, then leaned over and grabbed something, which turned out to be a plastic bag of some kind. "This'll be Yorktown's new colon."

Hornet blinked. "Wait, what?!"

"Kidding," Medusa chuckled, tossing the bag away. "But yes, she did quite a number on her internals. So make sure she doesn't pull a stunt like this again, okay?"

"Don't worry, I'll definitely do that."


	264. Rule 2866

**Rule 2866. Taking, damaging or otherwise touching the cape from a Wo-Class without permission is only** ** _slightly_** **less terrible an idea than taking the scarf off a Re-Class.  
**  
Corporal Fujiwara Ando, JGSDF, walked wobbly along the streets of the Nerima district, thoroughly drunk and praying to any kami that would listen that he was on the right path back to base. At least he was better off than the rest of the squad he was nominally supposed to lead. While he was wobbly-drunk, they were stumbling, about-to-fall-over drunk. And the fact they were singing a bawdy old _IJA song_ did _not_ help. And the fact that Yamagata and Shibasaki were about three lines behind Kunogi.

 _'If I smack them, they'll shut up. But is it worth the effort?'  
_  
While his alcohol-soaked brain was pondering that question, some other noise intruded on the scene. It took a bit for it to pierce the alcohol haze and the loud singing of the drunken privates, but when he did, he blinked blearily, letting out a "What... the..."

And then he saw a figure further down the street, and suddenly he was absurdly sober. Sober enough to lament the fact that they didn't have any of their weapons. There, striding down the street with an absolutely volcanic expression, was JS Worktown, that long-defected Wo-class carrier. And she was missing her cape. Immediately, Ando connected the dots.

 _'Those fucking idiots!'_

By now, the privates had noticed that Corporal Ando wasn't moving. "Hey, whazz goin' on?" Kunogi slurred. At least that stopped the singing. "Why'dja stop?"

"Shut up and let me do the talking," Ando hissed. He turned back just in time to see Worktown stop, still comfortably outside their personal space, thank God.

[You four,] she declared. [Tell me where my cape is, and I'll let you go about your business.]

Ando opened his mouth.

"Hey, ain't that what the 48th had to do for their hazing?" Yamagata drunkenly wondered. "Steal a Wo cape?"

Worktown's gaze, if anything, hardened further. "I see. And by '48th'..."

"48th Infantry regiment, down in Yokosuka!" Ando hastily interjected before any of the privates could say anything. "Training force!"

The Abyssal hummed, then nodded. [Yes, I think I know where that is. That does seem likely.] She saluted the soldiers. [Thank you for your cooperation. Feel free to return to... whatever it is you were doing.] And with that, she turned and left. The left the soldiers milling about, until Private Shibasaki spoke up. "So, now what?"

"Now?" Ando spun on his heel and began walking back towards the bar they'd left. "We have three hours before we're expected back. Let's make good use of them."

Nobody argued with that.

~o~

Admiral Goto sipped his afternoon tea through a wide smile on his face. The _reason_ for the wide smile was on the screen of his computer: some enterprising JGSDF soldier livestreaming Wo tearing through the training units in Yokosuka - non-lethally, of course - demanding her cape. The grin widened even more when she grabbed the barrel of a Type 74 tank used for training and used it to lever the turret off, before using _that_ to smash a Type 73 APC sitting next to the tank.

 _[My cape!]_ the Abyssal roared. _[Where is it!]  
_  
Despite the thawing of the traditional Army-Navy rivalry under the Self-Defense Forces structure, it was still there, enough for Goto to thoroughly enjoy watching the Army get spanked by... well, anyone, but by someone under his command it was icing on the cake. Best of all, he wouldn't catch flack for this. Allied Abyssals weren't technically under his command structure, after all, and after the incident in the US with someone stealing Wreck's cape, he was fairly confident it would be whoever planned this stupid-ass prank who caught the flack.

In the meantime, the Admiral simply sat back, let the stream run, and sipped at his tea.


	265. Rule 2868

**Rule 2868. South Dakota, we appreciate your efforts to refit the Japanese shipgirls with American AA, it really does help. However, there is a fine line between switching out the 25mms for Bofors, and installing AEGIS. The cost for both yours and Maya's repairs are coming out of your pay.  
**  
One of the nicer things global access to American technological and industrial largess made available was in the anti-aircraft department. Bofors and Oerlikon guns, as well as the necessary fire control and RPC equipment, were handed out like candy to anyone who wanted them. Of course, not everyone wanted to entirely replace their light AA batteries; the Germans and Italians had a suitable 20mm already, the Russians were confident in their 37mm, and the French elected to skip a step and go straight to automatic 57mm guns shooting proximity-fused ammo, plus their own 25mm.

In any case, the result, in combination with the availability of proximity fuses and heavy AA fire control sets, was a massive, global increase in AA firepower, especially since the US was slapping on twin 3" whenever a shipgirl went into refit. Any further improvements involved new, finicky guns and fire control gear that the fairies would have trouble keeping in working order - or worse, first-gen SAMs. As the American cruisers that had spent time as missile ships would tell you, those things were unreliable pieces of shit that were not worth the reconstruction they involved.

And yet, some shipgirls still yearned for better.

"Alright, Maya," South Dakota said. "Here's what I can do. Your bridge is big enough to accommodate a Burke-sized AEGIS installation. That'll require me to put in a lot more electrical generation, so while I'm at it I'm going to add in some Mk. 57 cells for ESSM, though you'll need to lose your 5" guns. It'll also reduce your light AA outfit. How does that sound?"

Maya thought it over. It _sounded_ like a major remodel - but then, she'd expected that when she decided to talk to South Dakota. And AEGIS... wiping away a spot of drool, she nodded decisively. "Do it."

A prick at her neck, and the cruiser immediately fell unconscious.

When she woke up later, it was to the sight of an unfamiliar part of South Dakota's lab, and the battleship herself running around like her hair was on fire.

"Shitshitshitshitshit..." she heard Dakota mutter. "Okay, calm down. Calm down. I can fix this."

"Fix what?" Maya asked with surprising calm.

South Dakota jerked, then spun around, her eyes wild. "Just go to sleep, Maya," the mad scientist said, grabbing a syringe and advancing on Maya. "I'll fix this, don't worry."

Another prick, and the darkness came again.

The next moment of consciousness was just a glimpse, and boy oh boy was it a _weird_ glimpse. South Dakota had traded in her usual outfit for a tiki mask, grass skirt, and coconut bra, dancing around and chanting in some weird language. Then Maya went under again.

When she woke up again, it was this time in the repair baths, tight bandages covering her eyes and muffling her hearing. Groaning, she tried to simultaneously sit up a little more in the tub and tug at the bandages.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice the cruiser vaguely recognized as USS Medusa.

Maya hastily let her hands drop, especially since she was distinctly aware of a throbbing pain all over. "What happened?" she croaked.

"South Dakota inflicted a total hatchet job of a refit on you, that's what," Medusa replied, disdain dripping from every word. "You have internal injuries from the utterly inadequate electrical generator going out and the equally inadequate wiring melting, holes in your sides where South Dakota forgot to put in the missile cells in her haste to fix everything else, structural weakness from AEGIS proving just a tad heavier than your usual bridge structure, more internal damage from adding all this in the first place." A pause, a long one. "And your head got... well, there's no delicate way to say this. It got cooked."

Maya winced as a pounding, burning headache confirmed that. "How..."

"Basically, the AN/SPY-1 panels were too low on your rigging and acted like a microwave oven."

Oh. That would do it.

"Now, you need to rest," Medusa continued, clamping a hand down on Maya's shoulder. "And that means _staying in the tub_ instead of strangling Dakota."

"Aww..." Maya groaned.

"Don't worry, she's getting her just desserts."

~o~

"Alright, let's tally it up, shall we?" Admiral Holloway said, a vindictive smile on his face. "First, there's the cost of repairing Maya."

South Dakota winced, tears flowing from her eyes. Oh, her poor research budget.

"Then, there's all the equipment you... appropriated from the Navy. Including that AN/SPY-1 set."

The tears flowed harder. Oh, her poor bank accounts!

"Then there's the repairs to Vincennes." That, honestly, would've been avoided - the ship had been beat up even before being pressed into emergency service - but again, Holloway was feeling vindictive today.

The tears were now full-on loud honking sobs. And there went her investment accounts!

"And finally, we'd better have the IRS do a full audit. Just to make sure that there aren't any more irregularities."

The sobbing stopped. So did South Dakota's everything else. And then Wright kicked down the door.

"You're a monster, Admiral!" she declared.

"Guilty."


	266. Rule 2871

**Rule 2871. While we are not against 21-gun salutes for the deceased being preformed, there are rules and guidelines in place that MUST be adhered to. Do not just volunteer yourself without informing command.  
**  
It was a peaceful day in Yokosuka.

And then the sound of gunfire ripped that peace to shreds.

Goto nearly fumbled his coffee mug, spilling it all over his computer, which sparked, fizzed, and then died. Kongo nearly fumbled her teacup, hot tea landing right on that small bit of bare thigh. And their cursing and pained screaming, respectively, were completely drowned out by a roar of "CHRIST ON A POGO STICK!" that emanated from the outer office.

"Damnation!" Goto swore as he took in his busted computer. "What the hell was _that?"  
_  
"We'd better be under attack," Kongo growled, eyeing the tea still dripping off her thigh and onto the carpet. "Otherwise _somebody_ is in for a bad time."

So saying, while Goto tried to save his computer - and from the swear words wafting up, failing - Kongo stomped up to the door, opened it - and then, after about ten seconds, slowly closed it, a haunted expression on her face.

"I, uh, assume you want to go check out what happened?" she remarked. "Because if so, we should probably-"

Roaring in frustration, Goto picked up his computer and hurled it out his window.

"You read my mind, teitoku!" Kongo cheered, only to go frantic when Goto stalked towards the door. "Wait, teitoku, you don't want to-!"

Too late. He'd opened the door.

"Do that..." Kongo finished lamely.

Like Kongo, Goto stayed like that for about twelve seconds before pulling back, an identical haunted look on his face. "Where was she even _keeping_ all that molasses?" he wondered.

"If we're unlucky, the universe will answer us," Kongo groused, before indicating the window. "Shall we?"

"Right..."

~o~

Finding the source of the disturbance wasn't hard. Samidare, Yuudachi, Harusame, and Asagumo lined up in two rows around a sobbing Naka was pretty much impossible to miss. Both Goto and Kongo paid little heed to that sobbing, nor the solemn expression on the destroyers. They simply furiously stomped up to them.

"Alright, what's going on here?" Goto declared, getting the attention of the destroyers. "And why does it involve scaring half the base to death?"

"Uh, Admiral?" Kongo interjected, tugging on his sleeve.

The Admiral followed the battleship's gaze to a small shrine in front of Naka that they'd understandably overlooked on first glance. Complete with burning incense.

"Oh," Goto said, suddenly feeling like an utter shitheel. "Well, I suppose that's fine. Just let us know in advance next time, okay?"

"Okay," the destroyers chorused with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Several loud, wet wails from Naka's direction brought everyone's thoughts back to the shrine, Kongo asking the obvious question. "So, uh, who died?"

"Oh, it's a very sad story!" Asagumo dramatically declared. "A very sad story about a beloved pet!"

Aaaand there was the anger, right back again. "I thought this was about one of her old crew," Kongo growled. "Not some mangy mutt!"

"Hey, you take that back, poi!" Yuudachi shot back.

"Girls, girls," Goto interjected. "Kongo's just a cat person. She didn't mean anything personal." Goto sneaked a glare that stopped hearts at Kongo. _"Right?"  
_  
"Yeah, sure," the battleship sullenly agreed. Inside, Goto winced. Looks like he'd be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.

"Regardless, she has a point that for a pet, this really should have been run by me first," Goto continued. "What kind of pet was it, by the way?"

At this point, Naka let out her loudest wail yet - and some actual coherent words. "No! My Eevee! You had so much to live for!"

Oh, the mood swings. Enough to give you whiplash. His face shadowed, Goto stomped up to the shrine, which had a battered Game Boy Advance in place of the customary photograph. He raised his foot - and then carefully lowered it when Kongo swooped in and began stomping the shrine to pieces.

"No!" Naka wailed, clutching Kongo's other leg in a vain attempt to stop her.

"You fiend!" the destroyers added. One glare from the Admiral shut them up.

Normally, this would be where he came up with some creative and unpleasant punishment for wasting everyone's time like this. But his glare towards the destroyers had alerted Goto to a more immediate problem: namely, half the base, rigging out and loaded for bear, charging right for their position, clearly intent on beating back the non-existent Abyssal attack they were convinced was here.

"Right, punishments later, haul ass now!"


	267. Rule 2876

**Rule 2876. Setting up dates for willing shipgirls and informed regular humans was a good idea. Setting it up for the Allied** ** _Abyssals_** **on the other hand...  
**  
[Remind me why I'm doing this again?] Wreck groused, though without much heat.

"Because you very nearly murdered someone at your last donor party, and that means it's time for something a little less stressful," USS President Jackson replied.

'This' was a date the attack transport had set up, and President Jackson was there because she'd become Wreck's de facto campaign manager. Amazing, all the hidden talents shipgirls continued to uncover within their ranks.

Right now, though, Wreck wasn't feeling too charitable towards her manager. She _also_ knew she wasn't in any position to voice that lack of charity; she _had_ been about thirty seconds away from messily killing that smarmy bastard. [Alright, fine, I'll stop bellyaching about this,] Wreck grumbled. [But that doesn't mean I have to be happy with it!]

President Jackson sighed, but waved the makeup people back into place. They were almost done to begin with, and soon Wreck was turned around. The effect was subtle, and mostly, it gave her face some color and touched up the few flaws.

"Excellent," President Jackson said, before snapping her fingers. The makeup people scurried away, and another woman walked in, holding up an outfit: a black sweater and good-quality slacks. "I think we'll hold off on the sexier outfits for now."

[No shit,] Wreck muttered, rolling her eyes. Regardless, she took the outfit and quickly changed into it. The result? Well, lower legs and pale-as-chalk skin aside, she looked like a fairly normal human woman, and the boot-cut pants did a good job of covering up the former. The Abyssal moved to look at herself in the mirror, and her eyebrows climbed up dramatically. [Huh. I actually look halfway normal.]

"Good," President Jackson said, her phone suddenly beeping. "And that's your cue to go."

[Alright.] Wreck stood and began to leave, but paused to throw a look at her campaign manager. [I still think this is going to end in disaster, and I can't wait to say 'I told you so'.]

"Yes, yes, just go."

She went.

~o~

Several hours later, the door opened again, President Jackson looking up to see Wreck walk in, her hair and clothes somewhat mussed. The transport felt a grin spread on her face, and did nothing to hide it.

"Had fun?" she asked in a teasing tone.

[Yes, actually,] Wreck replied, which prompted President Jackson to recoil in surprise. [The dinner was pleasant, the play was hilarious, and we got to Third Base before everything fell apart.]

Her eyebrows felt like they'd merged with her hairline. Jackson had _so many_ questions... but what she actually asked was, "How did everything fall apart? Was it the exposed machinery?"

[Nah, he was cool with that,] Wreck replied. [He was cool with me being a spiteful ball of hatred, too. Seemed to find my invective funny.] She grimaced. [Of all things, it was my _tail_ that got him. On the plus side, he mentioned that he won't say no to just hanging out, or listening to my bitching if the whole President thing works out.]

"Right..." President Jackson said weakly. What else did you say to something like that?

~o~

Woe, Wo-class aircraft carrier and Allied Abyssal, checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes. She was on a date, a date set up by some of her fellow Allied Abyssals, and in her nervousness she'd arrived fifteen minutes early. The wait did not help her nerves. At all.

"You must be Woe."

Her head jerked up, showing a reasonably handsome and friendly-looking man. [I-I am,] she replied, inwardly cursing the stammer.

"Shall we?"

Not trusting her voice, Woe nodded, and the two entered the restaurant they were planning to eat at. The carrier sat down first - and then, she felt hands grasp her hat.

[What are you-]

"Here, let me take that off for you."

Fun fact about the Wo class: they were almost as protective of their hats as they were of their capes. Thus, Woe's next action was reflexive, and quite drastic: she backhanded the poor bastard with considerable force. With her strength, that meant that his face crumpled like wet cardboard, followed by his entire body hurling through the plate glass window that fronted the restaurant and then into a parked car with enough momentum left over to dent the steel.

Miraculously, he was still alive.

Woe took this all in, and said the one thing she could:

[Shit.]

~o~

Talisman, Ta-class Allied Abyssal, fidgeted in her seat under the stares of two of the other people in the room. This was ridiculous. She'd faced down the best the shipgirl fleets had to offer, run drive-bys on American ports, dueled Re-class battleships on her lonesome, and won an arm-wrestling contest with _New Jersey_. Meeting the parents of her girlfriend should not be the most terrifying thing she'd done in her life!

Angela's mother, apparently done with her inspection, clicked her tongue, Talisman and Angela both wincing. They knew what _that_ meant.

"When you said she was Navy, I didn't think you meant a humanoid fast battleship from the deep," the woman said disapprovingly. "I was hoping for one of those nice female sailors, or maybe a cruiser."

"What I wanna know," Angela's father interjected. "Is why my daughter is dating some _harlot_ who doesn't wear pants."

Angela cradled her head in her hands, and Talisman foolishly tried to defend herself. From the father, at least. The mother was a lost cause. [I'm wearing pants now, you _saw_ them-]

"Irrelevant!" the man thundered. "I've seen the pictures of your kind, I know how this works!"

As her girlfriend tried to melt into her chair, Talisman groaned and braced herself for a very long night. At least the lasagna tasted good.


	268. Rule 2878

**Rule 2878. I-8 is not allowed to hoard books in her dorm room.  
**  
I-168 Imuya knocked on the door of I-8 Hachi, as the latter submarine was late for - Imuya shuddered - _Orel cruising._ After about fifteen seconds with no answer, she tried again. Still nothing. Frowning, she tried the door. The knob turned just fine, but a push produced nothing in the way of movement.

Briefly considering just shoving the door open or breaking it down, Imuya instead decided to escalate- er, get permission. This wasn't a problem for the Admiral to handle, but Fubuki would do nicely.

~o~

"Hachi! Open up!" Fubuki barked in her best flag officer voice. It was a good one; Imuya felt herself standing a little straighter on hearing it. Still, the door didn't budge.

Frowning, the destroyer turned to Imuya. "You said the door was unlocked, but you couldn't open it?"

"Yeah."

"Right." Fubuki cracked her knuckles, and then lashed out with her foot - which went straight through the door like it was paper. On the plus side, that caused a crashing sound on the other side of the door, so that confirmed that it was barricaded, but now Fubuki had her foot stuck in the door, at a somewhat... unfortunate angle.

"I see London, I see France~!" Imuya sang, a grin on her face.

"Ha ha, very funny," Fubuki groused. "Just get my foot out of the door, please."

Chuckling, Imuya did so, and just in time. The door swung open, and Hachi poked her head out. "Don't you _ever_ knock my books over again!" she snapped, and attempted to close the door again. Key word being 'attempted', for Fubuki jammed her foot in between the door and the frame.

"You were supposed to report for a sortie forty minutes ago," the destroyer reminded Hachi, getting a sudden and impressive evacuation of blood from her face. "And you barricaded your door with books... I think it's time for a surprise room inspection."

Hachi, stunned and scared, didn't resist as Fubuki shoved her way in, Imuya trailing behind. Immediately, they confronted with an obvious problem: books. Books _everywhere_. Stacked on the floor, stuffed in shelves, then stacked further in front of those rows. A bit of the dresser could be seen under a layer of cheap paperbacks; her desk was inundated with coffee table books; and more could be seen poking out from under her bed, which was the only flat surface not stacked high with books. Neither Imuya nor Fubuki could even see the _floor_. Instead, they walked on a layer of more cheap paperbacks, covered with clear plastic to protect them. Hell, though neither of them had noticed at the time, the door had been shortened so it could swing over the book floor.

"Wow..." Imuya breathed.

Fubuki sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hachi..."

"I want to be able to read my books!" the submarine protested.

"Library holds are a thing, y'know," Imuya pointed out. "Also, you can't be wanting to reread _all_ these books. Can't you have them stored once you're done with 'em?"

"I'm not stupid, y'know," Hachi replied. "Everything in this room is simply on my to-do list."

Silence descended. Silence Fubuki broke after several awkward minutes.

"Right, Imuya, contact Hitomi and Iyo, tell them they're taking over this Orel cruise," Fubuki said, only to grab Imuya's arm. "And also, contact Taiho so we can start packing up these books."

"Hey!" Hachi protested.

Fubuki turned a flat-lidded stare on the submarine. "Do you even know what color your carpet is?"

"Of course I do! It's..." Hachi froze, mouth open and one finger held up. "Uh..."

"Yeah, thought so."


	269. Rule 2880

**Rule 2880. You may not prank ship girls by "repairing" their uniforms with water-soluble thread.  
**  
War never changes. But the accounting in it does. And the poor bean-counters are always surprised by _something_ when a war is fought. With Desert Storm, for instance, it had been the profligate expenditure of ammunition, particularly smart munitions. The Abyssal War?

Clothes. Of all things.

And that was down to shipgirl combat, because clothes were nowhere near as durable as the bodies they were sitting on. Just about every sortie had the shipgirls come back needing repairs or outright new uniforms. And the sheer diversity of clothing they wore didn't help, either.

And even the U-boat corps, standardized in uniform and rarely damaged, went through a lot of clothing.

The point being, any shipgirl base, in this case Wilhelmshaven, usually had a massive stack of clothing to repair, and the supplies necessary to do so. With so much activity, sneaking in and replacing the thread used was surprisingly easy.

Giggling, Scharnhorst made one last check to make sure the thread was in place, and then snuck back out. Oh, this was going to be fun!

~o~

"Thrice-damned Submarine Empress!" U-47 snapped as she hauled herself out of the water and into one of the U-boat pens. Behind, in front, and all around her were despondent or angry U-boats with varying degrees of damage. All of them scrambled to swap shredded wetsuits for more normal swimsuits so they could get to work on repairs - and figuring out what, exactly, went wrong.

And not in the immediate sense; the number of depth charges, ASW rockets, and surface bombs they had met needed little explanation, at least on the receiving end. No, what everyone wanted to know was how the hell that trap had been set up.

While that went on, the shredded uniforms were sent to the tailor's. Some were repaired, sewn back together; others, replaced by "new" ones, reassembled from scraps or just simply repair jobs that had sat in the queue. These were sent to those submarines that were intact enough to sortie the next day, for the war stopped for no shipgirl or force, even one that had just gone through a comprehensive asskicking. Once again, U-47 lead. And for the first fifteen minutes in the water, everything seemed to be fine.

Then they began to feel water on their bodies.

 _'What the...'_ U-47 thought at the first sensation of cold water on her side. She glanced down, and gaped in astonishment at the seam there unraveling before her eyes.

A quick glance around confirmed that this was happening to everyone - and that quick glance proved to be a mistake, as the seam came undone entirely, baring her side from hip to armpit. And she could feel the other seams unraveling. Who could have done this?! Who had the opportunity, and the motive, and-?!

As U-47's wetsuit came apart around her, the culprit sprang to mind. Gritting her teeth, the submarine tilted her head back and roared that name to the heavens.

 _"SCHARNHOOOOOORST!"_

~o~

Back in Wilhelmshaven, the battleship in question blinked and glanced around. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Gneisenau replied.

On hearing that, Scharnhorst turned her attention back to her sister. "I guess it was no... thing..."

Right as she finished trailing off, the arms around her waist heaved, yanked her out of her chair, and then slammed her head-first into the concrete in a classic German suplex. Panting, U-47 let go and then jabbed a triumphant finger at the battleship.

"And that's what you get for the prank! Ha!"

"Uh, U-47?"

Blinking, the submarine turned back to Gneisenau, who had red dusting her cheeks. "Yeah?"

"You were, uh, kind showing off, if you know what I mean."

U-47 blinked again, and then the fact that she was completely naked aside from her hat finally registered. Her face and neck bypassed red entirely and seemed to invent entirely new colors of embarrassment, she frantically clapped her arms over her chest and groin regions, and then sprinted away screaming "DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEEEEEE!"

Once the submarine was out of sight, Gneisenau took a sip of her coffee and remarked, "Never a dull moment around here."


	270. Rule 2886

**Rule 2886. Disguising yourself as another shipgirl is still forbidden, just because the rule is deep within the list, it is no less valid.  
**  
HMS Liverpool shivered in the cold North Atlantic swells. In the middle of fall, the sea was rough and windswept, soaking her with spray. And on top of that, a storm cell had decided that it would be a great idea to squat over them as the convoy moved and dump freezing cold rain and blow even stronger gales in their faces. The rest of the distant escort was handling it fine. Liverpool thought they were all crazy.

And so, her mind drifted to happier times... times in the balmy Mediterranean, and the more humid but still quite pleasant China station. Granted, the Italian torpedo bombers were no fun, but at least the weather was nice.

And then verily did a hand reach down to smack her upside the head.

"Ow!" Liverpool yelped, turning an angry gaze on Berwick.

"Pay attention!" the heavy cruiser barked.

"Well, excuse me if I want to imagine some warm sun in..." Not finding the words, Liverpool flailed her arms around. "This!"

Berwick blinked. "What, this?" she said, sounding bewildered. "This is nothing. Now, the Barents in December, that's some nasty weather. In fact, let me tell you about that one time back in December '41..."

 _'Oh no!'_ Liverpool mentally wailed as Berwick descended into another one of her stories. _'I gotta get out of here. I just gotta!'_

But how? That was the question. Ideally, she could apply for a transfer to the Mediterranean fleet, but that was likely to be denied. The Royal Navy already had nine cruisers there and had made it very clear that a Dido or C-class AA cruiser was the priority for any reinforcements. She could disguise herself... but the Med cruisers were all Leander and Arethusa-class. And try as she might, she simply didn't have the build to imitate one of them.

Suddenly, an idea came to her, and a grin spread over her face. There _was_ somebody she could impersonate who had access to the Mediterranean. And best of all, it was _Spain_ , vacation destination for Brits the isle over.

A wave doused her in the face, reminding her that she still had to complete this convoy. Sighing, Liverpool set to work. At least she had something to look forward to after this.

~o~

"Now don't worry," Liverpool said to a tied-up, down-to-her-skivvies Sheffield. "It's only for a few days."

"Mm mmph!" Sheffield protested through her gag.

"See ya!" And with that, Liverpool stepped back and closed the closet door.

"Sheffield."

Liverpool flinched and hastily suppressed the urge to shriek. Instead, she turned and put her most affronted face on for the one who'd scared her. "Enterprise, don't sneak up on me like that!"

A raised eyebrow was Enterprise's only response. "We're sortieing in five minutes. Or did you forget?"

Inside, Liverpool flinched. Outside...

"Aheheheheh... maybe a little?" the cruiser chuckled nervously.

Enterprise stared a little longer, and then turned on her heel. "Don't be late."

Once the other light cruiser was gone, Liverpool sighed and followed. So she'd have to wait a bit to hit the Spanish beaches. Oh well. This would probably be pretty uneventful.

~o~

 _'I was wrong!'_ Liverpool wailed as she weaved through the shell splashes. _'This isn't uneventful at all!'  
_  
Force H's sortie had turned out to be in support of a French task force, the three Bretagne sisters backing up a mix of heavy cruisers and large destroyers and the British - or rather, Ark Royal - providing air cover. Nice and easy.

And then _three_ Ta-class fast battleships had attacked them.

Renown quickly went for one of them, something that made Liverpool want to scream. Renown was out gunned and, being a battlecruiser, was absolutely, positively _not built_ to be blocking 16" shells with her face. Faulknor throwing their entire destroyer screen after the second was almost as bad. And that left the third free to pursue her. Which was easily the worst part of this whole mess.

"Augh!" Liverpool screamed as a salvo screamed in and threw up massive gouts of water behind her. And then, far too fast, another salvo screamed in and slammed into the water in front of her. And the cruiser came to the bowel-loosening realization that the Abyssal was using _three-gun salvos!_ Spinning around, Liverpool watched helplessly as the Ta-class swung one of its turrets in her direction, a sharklike grin on her face. Liverpool grimaced, closed her eyes, and braced for impact.

The explosions she heard, though, were not the sharp bang of battleship guns, but the deep thumping of torpedo hits. Opening her eyes, she saw Enterprise steam away from the sinking Ta-class, torpedo mounts empty. Oh. Right. The E-class carried twelve torpedoes.

"Good job distracting it," the light cruiser remarked. "Not the usual playbook, but they came prepared for that, so good call."

"Aheheheh... right..." Liverpool nervously chuckled. "But, uh, just to refresh my memory, what _is_ the usual playbook?"

"Oh, get close, load HE and starshell, and light the fuckers on fire from stem to stern."

Liverpool blinked. _'Crazy! They're all crazy!'  
_  
The feeling of unreality only intensified when Renown, sporting a few shell hits but otherwise unscathed, steamed up to them, to be joined by the destroyers, sporting minor splinter damage themselves. Behind them, Liverpool could see two sinking Ta-class. And it was at this moment that Liverpool knew... she'd fucked up.

"Everyone all right?" Renown called out. "Sheffield? You good?"

"Y-Yeah!" Liverpool replied, trying to project as much confidence as she could.

"Good. Because I just finished talking with Ark, and the Force de Raid is driving some heavy cruisers towards us," Renown blithely continued on. "They want us to intercept them in case they can't catch up in time - or spring the trap, if there is one."

A deep, dark premonition settled in Liverpool's gut. "And then we'll head back?"

Several members of Force H sent her odd looks. Renown was not one of them. "Hopefully," was what she said. "But you know how it is. The Spanish call in assistance against PT imps, Hood and Campbelltown get in a fight with another Abyssal fleet,t hings like that. I don't doubt it'll probably be a while before we get back to Gibraltar."

Sometimes, Liverpool hated being right.

~o~

Three days later, Liverpool staggered back into Gibraltar, utterly exhausted and aching from a hundred different minor wounds. Over those three days, they had fought three major battles (Yes, the Force de Raid was being lured into a trap. Oh, and the PT imps near Bordeaux? Backed up by a small carrier force.) seven small actions, had been refueled by tankers twice, restocked by ammunition ships four times, and gotten a visit by the repair ship USS Jason. And then, as they were nosing into the pier, Ark Royal had commented that at least this was a slow sortie.

She wanted to cry. Any dreams of relaxing on Spanish beaches were dead, buried, exhumed, resurrected just to kill them all over again, and then doused with fluorine for good measure. No, it was a cycle of drudgery, terrifying combat, and much endured pain before she was found out and hauled before the Admiralty. And frankly, that last was almost looked forward to; at least it would be quick.

So when Liverpool saw Sheffield standing on the pier looking cross, she practically threw herself at her younger sister's feet.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know!" she wailed. "I'll take whatever punishment you give, just get me _out of here!"  
_  
Sheffield raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

"Anything!"

The cruiser smiled, and then craned her head to look at Renown. "Yo, Renown, are the Americans still mostly sitting in port twiddling their thumbs?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, see if you can pry Savannah or Brooklyn or Philadelphia from them!"

"What good will that do?" Liverpool asked.

"It'll fill the gap when I apply for some leave," Sheffield answered, before giggling at Liverpool's gobsmacked expression. "Yes, we get leave here. Anyway, we'll be heading over to Southern France. I know some _great_ nude beaches there."

Oh, hey, the pit in her stomach was back! "Nude beaches?" Liverpool parroted.

"Yup! Have fun!" Renown, oblivious, interjected.

... Maybe the sorties were still better.


	271. Rule 2889

**Rule 2889. While the U-Boats are off-duty party animals, they strongly object being called lewdmarines.  
**  
Nurnberg was not a happy cruiser this morning. She'd gotten next to no sleep, and from appearances neither had anybody besides Scharnhorst, who had an aggravating ability to sleep through just about anything. What had caused this dire lack of sleep?

Carousing. Celebrating. Partying. Whatever you want to call it, the sounds from U-boat island were never-ending and extremely loud. What had sparked this round of debauchery? Well, it had been Tuesday last night...

So when an equally sleep-deprived Admiral Hartmann had ordered _somebody_ to find out what the sweet tits had happened last night, Nurnberg had very quickly volunteered. So now she was steaming up towards the island, ready to give the U-boats the best tongue-lashing she could muster.

Oddly, she didn't meet any of the Type II U-boats usually watching the perimeter. Oh well. More time to compose her lecture. Even more oddly, no submarines greeted her at the shore, and it was at that point that Nurnberg began to worry. So when it came time to enter the main compound, she didn't hesitate.

And was immediately smacked in the nose by the odors of alcohol, sweat, vomit, sex, and marijuana smoke, all mixed together into a foul concoction that was essentially an assault on her sense of smell. Once the shock of the smell cleared, her eyes took over, showing her a picture of scattered streamers and confetti, messy tables, and unconscious - and often naked - submarines sprawled around the floor. And the tables. And chairs. And- yeah, that was someone hanging from a light fixture. Clearly, the party to end all parties had swept through here.

"Damn lewdmarines," Nurnberg growled, before attempting to pick her way through the carpet of bodies. Luckily, one of the submarines stood up, clearing a path. _Un_ luckily, that submarine was staring at her with dead eyes that seemed to hold an eerie glow. Despite herself, Nurnberg took a nervous step back.

"Did you hear that, sisters?" the U-boat intoned. "She called us _lewdmarines."  
_  
Forget nervousness. Nurnberg had to fight the urge to scream like a little torpedo boat and bolt out the door when every single other U-boat in the room opened their eyes, with that same dead glow, and stared at her.

"So, uh, I was just gonna go..." the cruiser tried.

"Get her."

~o~

U-47 groaned, forcing herself to sit up and open her eyes despite the steam hammer going to town on her skull. There was a stranger in her bed next to her; glitter coated every surface of the bedroom she was in; a tentative sniff of her shirt revealed that she smelled like nothing other than a minibar; and there were marks dotting her shoulders and presumably her neck that she couldn't decide if they were hickeys or bruises. She also couldn't decide which was worse.

No doubt there were pink flamingos hanging out in the nearest body of water, a DJ passed out in the yard in the center of the complex, and Barbie dolls residing in the small portable grills they kept on hand for these parties.

Regardless, U-47 had woken up for a reason: screaming. Lots of it. Groaning, she stood on shaky legs and padded over to the door, opening it.

Not a foot from her face was Nurnberg's, surrounded by a sea of glowing-eyed U-boat girls. "Help me!" the cruiser pleaded. Slowly, U-47 closed the door, began to fall, and then caught herself at the last minute, swaying so that she faced her bed again.

"Nope," she decided, padding back to the bed and falling into it.


	272. Rule 2895

**Rule 2895. To all SCIENCE! Ship girls, we're going to start restricting research into FTL technologies and only progress to be monitored by the Sci-Fi Ship girls, especially after that incident with Shimakaze.  
**  
It was a slow day in the Yuubaris' lab. Projects were either on hold, in process, or finished. But the two cruisers weren't _quite_ bored yet. They were just getting there. And thankfully for the sanity of everyone in the Western Pacific, one of their phones started ringing.

"Moshi moshi. ... Dakota, what a surprise!"

The Yuubari not on the phone perked up, and then flatly dove for a notebook.

"You don't call very often, so forgive my surprise," Yuubari replied in the most flatly sarcastic voice possible. "Yes you- look, what's this about? ... You want my help? For what? ... Faster-than-light propulsion?!"

"Put it on speaker!" Yuubari hissed.

"Hang on, lemme put you on speaker," Yuubari said, hitting the necessary button. "There, you're on."

 _"Oh, good,"_ South Dakota said. _"Anyway, as I said, I have this nice little FTL device. Thanks for the data on Kongo's jumps, by the way. It works on the same principles. And it works... most of the time. Every so often it'll seize up and just stop working."  
_  
The Yuubaris shared a glance, and grinned. "So, you want us to figure out what the problem is."

 _"Right. I can offer-"_

"Nah, the challenge'll be enough," the other Yuubari replied.

 _"Perfect. I'll send it over."_

~o~

Shimakaze wasn't quite muttering swear words under her breath, but it was a close thing. Her whole thing was that she went fast - and she'd just gotten her tiny little skirt beaten off of her. By a carrier. And not a super-fast carrier like a Lexington or one of the dragons. No, this had been battered old John C. Stennis, who had just took off at the start of the race and never let the destroyer catch up. That it was all a matter of steam physics rather than proper top speed was of no comfort.

So now, she was going to the Yuubaris to see if they could do anything about her speed. She wasn't expecting much; Kiyoshimo served as a cautionary tale for all destroyers looking for quick fixes - and larger ships sucked into get-rich-quick schemes.

Afterward, Shimakaze would swear that her eavesdropping was totally accidental. A few people would even believe her.

"I think I found your problem, Dakota," she heard Yuubari say, just before she knocked on the door to the lab. "Y'know how FTL drives are technically time travel? Well, apparently, Novikov self-consistency applies, so if transporting something will cause a paradox then it just doesn't work. I'm afraid you're just going to- hey! Don't touch that!"

Shimakaze, who had started sneaking in the minute "FTL" tumbled from Yuubari's lips, didn't listen, and instead grabbed at the odd metal cub that functioned as the FTL device. Presumably. And then definitely when a massive green glow built up around her. She screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-!"

Suddenly, she was in an alien landscape, still tinged with green lightning. Then she was in a dark cave, surrounded by strange, one-eyed creatures. Before she could retaliate, she found herself in the President's office - and then, she was in a grimy alley in a city that from what she could see resembled pictures she'd seen of the old Rust Belt, though the scent of saltwater in the air suggested it wasn't the Rust Belt proper. Nearby, she could hear a man with a very deep voice talking in English, just a hint of a Japanese accent audible. Shimakaze jogged over and took in the sight.

Most of the men were very obviously thugs of the low-rent variety, with weapons that ranged from simple bludgeoning instruments to handguns. Speaking to them was a large, powerfully built man in basic jeans and tank top and a metal mask that reminded her of a dragon. As she took this all in, she caught the tail end of a speech of some kind.

"…the children, just shoot. Doesn't matter your aim, just shoot. You see one lying on the ground? Shoot the little bitch twice more to be sure. We give them no chances to be clever or lucky, understand?"

Well. Obviously these weren't good guys, so Shimakaze did the first thing that came to mind.

She punched dragon-mask.

Then dragon mask turned into an actual dragon. That was on fire.

Fuck.

~o~

Yuubari stared at where the FTL drive used to be, and whimpered.

"Her sisters are going to kill me," she groaned. "Then Admiral Goto is going to have South Dakota resurrect me, just to kill me all over again!"

"What'd you do this time?" the other Yuubari mumbled around a dango stick, more bags of food in her hands.


	273. Rule 2898

**Rule 2898. Tenryuu, we know you use a katana. Please reconsider attempting sword moves from manga/anime titles like Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu.  
**  
Tenryuu was many things. An excellent caretaker. Easily flustered by her sister. A solid, if reckless, tactician. Surprisingly professional when she wanted to be. And above all, a beastly combatant that achieved things well above her weight class.

All of the above positive qualities tended to obscure the fact that, at the end of the day, Tenryuu was a teenager who hadn't quite outgrown her chuuni phase. Not in body, of course, and not even all the time, even in mind, but it underlaid everything she did, and sometimes she couldn't help but indulge that side of her.

Like right now, where she was sitting under a tree, sword sheathed next to her and a volume of Rurouni Kenshin in her hand. "Yosh!" she declared, slamming the book shut. "I think that should be enough!" Grabbing her sword, she held it at her side, tensed, and then swung it forward.

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu!" she bellowed. "Kuzu Ryusen!"

What she intended was for nine simultaneous strikes that would obliterate whatever she was swinging that. Failing that, nine high-speed strikes in a circular area of reasonably small size would do. She did _not_ expect her sword to slip out of her hand at just the right angle to get maximum distance. The sword flew, point-first, through a window; skewered Yamakaze's ice cream, sending it splattering all over the place; unhooked Takao's towel just as she was forced to open the door to talk to a sailor; and then out another window. Several hats were knocked off, and then it hit another window, went through, skewered Admiral Goto's morning muffin, and pinned it to his desk, right through his brand-new computer.

For a moment, Goto stared at the blade, taking in its every detail, and then... well, it was kind of a distinctive sword.

"TENRYUUUUUUUUU!"

Tenryuu herself knew nothing of this. But her instincts were screaming at her that she'd done fucked up. So logically, there was only one thing to do.

~o~

It wasn't often that Tatsuta was actually worried for Tenryuu. Her sister could take care of herself, and her little kindergartners were no slouches themselves. But seeing Shiratsuyu, Shigure, Yuudachi, Suzukaze, Umikaze, and Kawakaze march by looking for Tenryuu with murder in their eyes, she became worried. That worry intensified when Maya and Chokai came thundering down the other direction, also looking for Tenryuu.

The worry morphed into outright panic when Goto scuttled past on the ceiling, holding Tenryuu's sword and hissing about "The precious".

So it was with considerable relief that the next knock at her door was a wild-eyed Tenryuu.

"Hide me!" she demanded.

"Of course!" Tatsuta said, scrambling for her closet. "In here!"

Tenryuu blinked, then adopted a suspicious expression. "That was fast."

"Tenryuu, you have 60% of the Shiratsuyu class, half the Takao class, and Admiral Goto all out for your hide," Tatsuta replied, indicating the floor-to-ceiling line of dresses. "I may tease you, but I don't want you to _die._ Now get in here, before they come back."

Wide-eyed, Tenryuu practically dove into the closet, Tatsuta closing the door behind her. And just in time, too, for not eleven seconds afterward Shigure kicked Tatsuta's door down.

And it wasn't just her, either. _All_ of the people after Tenryuu had filed in, though Maya looked a little conflicted about the whole thing.

"Was that really necessary, Shigure?"

"Darn right it was necessary!" Kawakaze answered for her big sister. "She made Yamakaze cry!"

Panic swept through Tatsuta again. _'Oh God it's even worse than I thought!'_ So when everyone stepped forward, Tatsuta did the only thing she could.

"She's in the closet!"

"TRAITOR!" Tenryuu shrieked. "I TRUSTED YOU!"

"I'm sorry, sis, really, I am," Tatsuta shouted back as Admiral Goto practically ripped her closet door off her hinges. "But I wanna live!"


	274. Rule 2905

**Rule 2905. No staging coups.**

 **AN: To forestall anything political in the comments: this rule was posted by a Turkish poster on SB, who gave his blessing to the snip.  
**  
A scream of rage in mixed Turkish and German wafted through the halls of the Izmir naval base, and Stuart flinched. That was Yavuz, and the last time she'd heard the battlecruiser scream like that, Giorgios Averoff had gotten a train suplexed onto her. Thus, despite really not wanting to, Stuart made her way over to Yavuz's room and knocked on the door.

Thumping steps preceded it being swung open. "What," Yavuz said in a... volcanic tone.

"I heard the scream," Stuart said. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright!" Yavuz snapped, waving around a newspaper. "More websites blocked! More opposition politicians arrested on the flimsiest pretenses! And more journalists jailed! We have more journalists jailed than _China_ , for fuck's sake!"

Stuart raised an eyebrow. "And nobody's stopping him?"

"The military got defanged after that false-flag operation back in 2016 - and it was a false-flag operation, I refuse to believe otherwise! - the legislature has already been banned from investigating the presidency, and the courts are too busy being on the defensive to do a damn thing!" Shredding the paper in her hands, Yavuz let out a wordless scream of rage and tossed the scraps back in the air.

"So, why don't _you_ do something about it?"

Yavuz paused, staring at Stuart. "Eh?"

"Why don't you kick this guy out?" Stuart repeated. "I've studied a bit of Turkish history, I know the military has a tendency to kick out governments it thinks aren't doing right by the state. If the Army's in no position, why not the Navy? And with this war, you're basically untouchable, politically." The destroyer leader grimaced. "Besides, I read Turkish news, too. The guy needs to go."

Yavuz blinked, and then grinned. "You know what, Stuart? If you guys think you can hold onto the Aegean without any Turkish shipgirls, I think I'll give the old college try."

"Don't worry, we've got this," Stuart airily replied.

The grin widened, and Yavuz pulled out her cell phone and pressed a button. Once the call picked up, she intoned only two words:

"It's time."

~o~

It was a normal day in Ankara - and more importantly, a peaceful one. No Army troops patrolling the streets. No masses of citizens clashing with the police. Though there was the odd sight of the battlecruiser shipgirl Yavuz Sultan Selim and what appeared to be all eight of Turkey's destroyer shipgirls marching towards the parliamentary building. A good-sized crowd of curious citizens trailed behind them; it was rare for the shipgirls to be seen outside Izmir.

By the time they reached the parliamentary building, the crowd had gone from good-sized to very large. And as messages flew out, the shipgirls marched up the steps, only to be met by a pair of very nervous guards.

"The parliament is in session," one of them tried. "I'm afraid we cannot let even you in."

"Oh, it's fine," Yavuz said, all smiles. "I didn't expect you to."

Before they could process that statement, the battlecruiser grabbed both guards' heads and smacked them together, both of them dropping like ninepins. That done, Yavuz strolled up to the main doors and kicked them down with a thundering crash. At this point, the crowd was beginning to get an idea of what was going on, and more messages flew out, demanding that more people arrive.

Meanwhile, inside the building Yavuz and her destroyers marched for the main parliament. They didn't get very far before more guards streamed in, rifles raised behind cover. It didn't matter. Even thin-skinned destroyers were functionally bulletproof, and they could just wade through the fire and disable the guards with ease. Yavuz didn't even bother with that, instead striding through the hail of bullets as if it were a spring rain.

By the time she reached the doors to the main parliament, the guards were all down and her destroyers were flanking her. Yavuz spared a moment for a deep breath, muttered "Showtime...", and then shoved the doors open.

The battlecruiser caught the tail end of what seemed like a very heated argument, one that died the minute she and her destroyers walked in. Perfect.

Clearing her throat, Yavuz declared, "Gentlemen, if you could all sit down and stay calm, we can get through this coup without anyone getting hurt."

Predictably, the politicians took exception to that, every one of them rising and shouting at the same time. Yavuz let the din go on for about half a minute, then dropped a hand signal.

BANG!

The room fell silent, and all eyes shifted to the destroyer Gayret, who lowered one of her smoking 4.7" guns, though no projectile had actually been loaded. "Oy, you heard the lady!" the destroyer barked. "Sit down, shut up, and nobody gets hurt!"

Most of the MPs sat down and shut up, but one brave or stupid AKP MP remained standing. "Fools!" he declared. "You only have the legislature! And soon enough, the Army will be here to free us!"

Yavuz grinned. It was not a kind grin. "Yeah, about that..."

~o~

USS Thornback giggled as hapless Turkish tankers tried to get their vehicles started. Sorry, boys, but with sugar in the tank that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The call from Yavuz was surprising, but this was the most fun she'd had in a while. And it was all for a good cause, too!

Turning away, she found USS Chub just jogging up to her.

"Every other vehicle on this base is disabled," the submarine reported. "Brill's just finishing up the last inspection."

"Great!" Thornback replied, clapping her hands. "Then we can head to Ankara proper and watch the fireworks soon! Oh, this is _way_ better than CNN!"

~o~

While all this was happening, one Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was in his new presidential palace, getting work done. One downside of shifting so much power to a role mostly ceremonial before: work, and lots of it, while he and his staff figured out how to streamline things.

"Huh. I was expecting something more... supervillain-y. This is almost disappointing."

All thoughts of work fled Erodogan's head as he glanced up to see a gun pointed at him. And not just any gun. Carrying it was a submarine in a German-style wetsuit. One of _his_ submarines.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growled.

"Ah ah, Mr. President," the submarine tutted, Erdoğan flinching at each movement of the gun. "Please don't make me do something both of us would regret. You keep quiet, and we might be able to arrange a nice retirement villa in Italy or something, rather than a pine box. Besides, it's not like you, personally, can do anything right now."

Erdoğan slumped back in his chair. "A coup," he said. "All my work for this country, and-"

"Oh, don't even _try_ to sell me that bullshit, Mr. President," the submarine snapped, waving the gun around a little more. "We both know who number one is in your political career, and it's not Turkey. But I'll save the list of crimes for Yavuz to list."

That shut Erdoğan up, mostly due to the gun waving around. That, and another shipgirl poked her head in. "We've rounded everyone up, Atilay," the newcomer reported. "And Burac Reis reports that the Ministry buildings are locked down tighter than a Russian liquor cabinet."

"Excellent," Atilay said, grinning. "Now, Mr. President, we're going to take a little road trip."

~o~

"Can someone tell me what the _fuck_ is going on in Turkey?!" Admiral Masson snapped. "Because I'm pretty sure I'm watching the entire Turkish shipgirl fleet overthrow their own government, and I really, really don't want that to be what's happening."

 _"Sorry, Admiral, but that_ is _what's going on,"_ Warspite sighed. _"Not only is it over every news outlet the intel guys can find, I managed to pry the story out of Averoff. The Scrap Iron Flotilla was decidedly unhelpful in that regard, so I think they knew this was coming."  
_  
"Great..." Masson groaned, running her hand down her face. Of all the times for a sizeable shipgirl force and one of the larger air forces in the region to take themselves out of the fight for the foreseeable future. Masson was about to reply when she saw a change in the news feed, and sat up. There, on the screen, were what appeared to be submarine shipgirls escorting Erdoğan into the parliamentary building.

"We've got a development," she said.

Silence for a long while, and then Warspite spoke again. _"According to Averoff, Yavuz probably plans to use the coup as a way to browbeat Turkey's parliament into impeaching_ _Erdoğan."  
_  
Masson nodded. That made sense. Use the legitimate democratic levers, get some legitimacy, and boost the idea of democracy all in one fell swoop. So the French admiral settled back to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Eventually, she had to leave the feed to take care of the necessities. It had been many hours, after all. Luckily, she got back in time for something to happen. A human figure burst out of one of the parliament's windows, to be caught by one of the destroyers standing guard outside. This was followed thirty minutes later by Erdoğan being led out, gagged, and then shoved over to the police that had naturally gathered to manage the enormous crowd outside the Parliamentary building. A hushed conversation was had, and then the police clapped a set of handcuffs on the visibly furious Erdoğan. And when he was led away, the crowd _cheered_.

"Well, guess that's that," Masson said, before standing to go to bed.

And so it was to her considerable surprise that she awoke to an announcement of Yavuz as acting president.

 _"What?!"_

~o~

"Ms. President-" the simpering official tried, only to be shut up with a finger to his lips.

"Shut up, of course I'll do it," she said. "We are going to clean up this steaming pile Erdoğan left us. But I don't have to like it. And we _will_ have elections as soon as we are able. Clear?"

A round of vaguely agreeable muttering swept the room. Yavuz decided to take it.

"Now. First on our agenda is getting the fuck out of Syria entirely-"

Immediately, the shouting began. Yavuz groaned, leaned back, and braced herself for a very stressful day.


	275. Rule 2908

**Rule 2908. Taihou we understand you are paranoid, but turning your room into a miniaturization of the combined defense grids of Tokyo 3, Jaburo, A Baoa Qu, JOSH-A, the Atlantic Wall, the Maginot Line, the planet Reach, and god knows what else, is taking it too far.  
**  
"What on Earth...?" Captain Yonehara muttered.

The good captain was looking over the electrical consumption of the base, which had spiked significantly in recent weeks. Now, he had the source: Taiho's room, which was drawing kind of ridiculous amounts of electrical power. This merited investigation, since he didn't remember Taiho owning anything that required that much power. Though he also couldn't just go over himself...

Pulling out his phone, he made a quick call. "Oh, Snugglewums?"

 _"What did I say about pet names, Sosuke?"_ Ashigara sighed.

He winced. "Ah, don't do it?"

 _"Right. So, why the call during work time?"  
_  
"Well, Taiho's doing _something_ in her room that's sucking up lots of electrical power. I'd check it out myself, or send one of my grunts, but I'm busy and who knows what Taiho's doing in there," he explained. "Best to get a shipgirl in there, and I don't think you have anything official to do today."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Yonehara's face fell flat.

"Please don't tell me you're sitting on the couch undressed, eating mochi and watching Korean soap operas," he deadpanned. "Again."

 _"... I'm eating potato chips, not mochi?"  
_  
"Just get over to Taiho's room," Yonehara sighed.

~o~

About fifteen minutes later found Ashigara dressed and in front of Taiho's room. She reached up and knocked at the door - whereup on several weapons mounts popped out of the ceiling, aiming a terrifying mix of rockets, cannon, and some fancy guns that she could only guess at function-wise.

"Whoa, whoa, friendly, friendly!" she protested.

Luckily, the guns didn't fire. And then a robotic voice announced: _"Scan complete. Identified friendly."  
_  
With that, the guns withdrew, and the door swung open. This did little to calm Ashigara's nerves, because inside Taiho's room was a path that zig-zagged through a lengthy killbox made of concrete bunkers and guns. Lots and lots of guns. All kinds of guns, in fact. And... were those guns _floating?!_ Very carefully, the cruiser picked her way through, eventually reaching the end, where Taiho sat on a beanbag chair reading some manga.

"Oh, hey Ashigara," the carrier said. "What's up?"

A scowl on her face, Ashigara indicated the mass amounts of gunnery behind her. "Explain," she growled.

Immediately, Taiho's calm evaporated. Sweat poured down her face, her pupils dilated, and her whole body began to shake. Dropping her manga, she rolled off the beanbag chair, muttering "Can't sleep, subs will get me... can't sleep, subs will get me..." on repeat.

Grimacing, Ashigara took a step back - and tripped _something_ , because one of the floating turrets suddenly turned its gun on her. The only warning Ashigara had was the round actually smacking into her back.

"YARGH!"

~o~

"Particle cannons, lasers, plasma, kinetics of all kinds..." Yuubari muttered. "And then there's _these_ fuckers." That comment was accompanied by a poke to one of the floating platforms, which had turned out to be an exceptionally powerful coilgun. "No wonder she's drawing so much power. I'm honestly surprised she wasn't drawing more."

Beside her, Captain Yonehara sighed explosively. "Welp. Therapy time for Taiho, I guess. She sure did a good job hiding how bad her paranoia was."


	276. Rule 2910

**Rule 2910. South Dakota, return Nagato's panties immediately.  
**  
South Dakota held up her hand in triumph, a pair of Nagato's panties clutched in her hand. Why? Who knows. The after-action report didn't include anything, either, probably due to her jaw being wired together in the aftermath.

Anyway, South Dakota held her dubious triumph, and then quickly pressed it into an odd machine of indeterminate function, before stepping back expectantly. She stayed that way for a good thirty seconds before growling, pulling out her phone, and pressing a button.

"Hello?" she said when the phone picked up on the other end.

 _"Hey, what's up,"_ Phoenix replied.

"I need your help, can you come here?"

 _"Well, I can't, I'm getting a cheeseburger."  
_  
Sighing internally, South Dakota retrieved the panties. There'd probably be a wait. "Well, alright, hurry up and come over here."

 _"Well, I can't find any."  
_  
"What do you mean you can't find any?"

 _"I can't find any, there's only shoes."  
_  
The battleship blinked stupidly. "What do you mean, there's only shoes?!" she snapped. A key scientific experiment, and Phoenix was wasting her precious time with stupid inanities!

 _"It means there's only shoes,"_ Phoenix emphasized.

"Well then get out of the shoe aisle!" South Dakota roared, temper fraying.

 _"Alright, you don't have to shout at me!"  
_  
The somewhat pleading tone in Phoenix's reply did little to placate South Dakota, who began tapping her foot as footsteps and the sound of other shoppers filtered into her ear.  
 _  
"There's more shoes!"_ Phoenix reported.

"What do you _mean_ there's more shoes?!"

This was getting ridiculous. Where the fuck _was_ Phoenix, anyway?

 _"There's just more shoes!"  
_  
"Go into the next aisle!"

More footsteps, and... _"There's more shoes!"  
_  
"Where _are_ you right now?!"

At this point, much pacing and hand-flailing was going on on South Dakota's part.

 _"I'm at Shoes!"  
_  
"What do you _mean,_ you're at shoes?!"

 _"I mean, I'm at_ Shoes!"

"What _store_ are you in?!"

 _"I'm at the shoe store!"  
_  
"Why the fuck are you buying a cheeseburger at a shoe store?!" South Dakota roared, all semblance of patience gone.

 _"Fuck you!"_ And with that, the line went dead.

Shrieking in frustration, South Dakota hurled her phone as hard as she could into Super Nagamon's face, and began pacing again. Alright, fine, if Phoenix couldn't help her - and clearly she was too _stupid_ to help even if she was present - then she'd just have to do it herse-

The battleship froze, and slowly turned around to Nagato, who looked decidedly unimpressed. "Uh, hi," South Dakota nervously greeted, glancing down at the Japanese shipgirl's miniskirt. "Did you fly the whole way here? Because while I'm sure the Abyssals appreciate the show-"

"Yes. I did fly here," Nagato said in a voice that would have flash-frozen _helium._ "Consider it another line on the list of things we need to... discuss."

From the cracking knuckles, honest discussion was the last thing on Nagato's mind. And so, South Dakota did the first sensible thing she'd done all day: she turned and tried to run. Unfortunately, while under normal circumstances the American was faster than her Japanese counterpart, this was Super Nagamon. The list of shipgirls faster than her was a short one.

And so, it was no trouble for her to reach out and snag South Dakota by the collar. The result was... well, again, South Dakota needed to have her jaw wired together again. That should give you an idea of what happened.


	277. Rule 2916

**Rule 2916. The unsanctioned coffee bean plants needs to be turned over to HAZMAT, immediately. Whatever the botanical division of the SCIENCE Fleet did, their crossbreeding has resulted several crops that looks like a cross of Plant 42, Audrey II, and Biollante.  
**  
Provence blinked at her phone ringing. Who was that? Well, it was more fun than watching her latest creation grow, so she picked it up.

"Hello?"

 _"Yo, Provence, it's me, Gneisenau,"_ was the answer. _"I could use your assistance on something."  
_  
Provence narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Other Mad Science shipgirls did _not_ call her for assistance. Hell, the only shipgirl, period, who had ever called for assistance was New Orleans. The battleship shuddered at the memory. On the other hand, other Mad Science shipgirls did _not_ call her for assistance. The fact that Gneisenau had was a nice ego boost.

"Sure!" she chirped. "What do you need?"

 _"Eh, it's a simple thing,"_ Gneisenau replied. Provence's hands clenched on her phone at the dismissive tone. _"Graf's been getting on my case about improved coffee beans, but not only do I not have time for that, I don't really know much about the biological side of things. So, yeah, just need an improved coffee plant within... oh, two weeks."  
_  
"I'll get it to you," Provence said through gritted teeth.

 _"Great. Talk to you later."  
_  
With Gneisenau hung up, Provence placed down her phone, ideas for the coffee beans whirling through her head. Yes... she would make the best coffee beans of all time! That would show Gneisenau and everyone who had laughed at her! She'd show them all!

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

~o~

Gneisenau sighed as Lorraine led her through Toulon. It was a very simple deadline: two weeks from their conversation. And now, three weeks later, still no coffee plants, forcing her to come down to France to see what the fuck was going on. Well, that, and the criminal lack of email responses. At least she'd picked up some nice French cheeses for Scharnhorst's Launch Day.

While Lorraine unlocked the door to Provence's lab, Gneisenau mentally composed her rant against Provence, particularly what she was going to call her in the opening. "Witless donkey"? Too British. "Uncultured noodle"? Too Italian. And too irrelevant. "Prolapsed rectum of a human being"? Too American, and amazingly, too harsh, too. Maybe-

"What the fuck?!"

The unexpected swear word jolted Gneisenau right out of her musings. The contents of Provence's lab kept her there.

Whatever these... things were, they weren't coffee plants. Coffee plants were not the size of giraffes, nor did they look like the over-spiked and over-tentacled unholy offspring of Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors and fucking _Godzilla._ Oh, and a pair of legs that were presumably Provence's were sticking out of the closed mouth of one of the monstrous plants.

Immediately, Gneisenau moved, weaving through the tentacles and punching the plant nomming on Provence square in its... chest? Whatever the anatomical part, the impact made the plant messily spit up Provence, who landed in a slime-covered heap on the floor. It also left Gneisenau right in the center of the circle of plants, hemmed in by tentacles. She gulped; she'd seen enough hentai to know where _this_ was going.

"Lorraine!" Gneisenau barked as the slavering plant monsters closed in on her. "I'll hold them off! Go get some flamethrowers, or thermite!"

 _That_ provoked a reaction from the plants - gibbering terror. With actual, audible gibbering.

"No! I'm too young to die!"

"Why?!"

"abuhnlasdh;alsjbdf;alsjjdbf/aljsdhfa; "

"Goodbye, cruel world!"

Gneisenau blinked. Lorraine blinked. Provence stirred, and sat up, blinking away the slime from her eyes. The minute she saw one of her plants, a scowl spread over her face and she jabbed a finger at one of them. "Fools!" she roared. "I am your creator! And I demand-!"

"That never works, you know," Gneisenau remarked as she grabbed Provence by the throat. Cautiously, she side-eyed the gibbering plants. "Hmm... hey! Swear to renounce any consumption of humans, and we won't torch you!"

"Yes, yes, we promise!" the plants all pleaded.


	278. Rule 2918

**Rule 2918. Since we can't seem to stop the production of smutty fan-fics, doujins, and what have you, we instead are instituting a royalty system for anyone whose likeness is used in them. And the royalty is tripled if it is done without their prior authorization.  
**  
"AUGH WHY!"

Fubuki, Inazuma, and Ooyodo, who had all been working on various things (operational planning, merchandising revenue, and Minesweeper, respectively) all turned to Admiral Goto's office, and _moved_. Inazuma was the first there, flinging the door open to allow Ooyodo and Fubuki to rush in, the former to help Admiral Goto and the latter to see what had provoked that kind of reaction.

Goto, sadly, was completely unconscious, the whites of his eyes showing and foam and drool dribbling out of his mouth. This was very quickly determined by Ooyodo and Inazuma, and a good thing too.

"ARGH, MY EYES!"

Because they had just determined that when Fubuki let out a similar shriek and collapsed. The remaining two shuffled over to what Fubuki was looking at, and Inazuma quickly looked, read, and then looked away, shuddering and clutching closed lids.

"Inazuma...?" Ooyodo queried.

"Ugh, I need new eyes and a new brain!" she complained. "Akigumo's branched out into light novels, nanodesu!"

Ooyodo considered that, and a shudder of visceral revulsion ran through her. "My condolences. Clearly, measures to contain such works have failed."

"Yeah, honestly, I don't know what it'll take to stop them, nanodesu," the destroyer grumped, sitting on Goto's chair. She took a moment to moan in comfort. "Oooohhhh... that's nice... anyway, we've tried flat bans. We've tried 'the beatings shall continue' punishments. Hell, we've even allowed the more prudish shipgirls free access to the authors! And all that's done is make them even more... sneaky..."

A grin spread over Inazuma's face, and Ooyodo felt both a frisson of excitement and a pit of dread in her stomach. "You have an idea, I take it?" she asked.

"Yesssss..." Inazuma cackled, rubbing her hands together. All that was missing from the picture was a white cat to stroke. "Call up the Americans. I know they've had a lot of problems with Hornet and Missouri, too, and I need to get permission if we're gonna enact this plan."

"And that plan is?"

The grin widened. "Hit 'em where it really hurts." She grimaced. "Though we'll need someone to audit all this smut."

~o~

"So let me get this straight," Iku said. "You want me to read a massive stack of smutty fanfiction, novels, and doujins, and flag any that use an actual likeness from the shipgirl fleet, with a note on who it is specifically."

"That's correct," Ooyodo answered.

"And I'm getting _bonus pay_ for this."

"Also yes."

A lecherous grin replaced the earlier flat expression. "When do I start?"

~o~

"Count me in!" Sendai crowed.

"Please!" Naka and Jintsuu all but demanded.

~o~

"I'm so there!" Kisaragi cheered.

~o~

"Ruff ruff!"

~o~

Akigumo sat at her desk, a lamp illuminating the sheet of paper she was furiously drawing on. Inspiration was fleeting, and she needed to capture this idea, at least in sketch form, before it fled!

When asked, the doujin-writing destroyer often said that she wasn't drawing so much as freeing her pictures from their confinement. Really, this was a bit of philosophical bluster to cover up the fact that she narrated as she drew.

"Chikuma shuddered as his drew up her thigh, the rough, callused skin scraping against her own smoothness. Nobody had touched her like this, not even her Tone-oneesama. And yet-"

The door suddenly slamming open jolted Akigumo out of her trance, and caused her hand to jerk, drawing a squiggly line of ink over half the page.

"Motherfuck!" she spat, spinning around. "I was _inspired_ , you little... shit..."

She froze at the sight of Inazuma in an official JMSDF officer's uniform, backed by a quartet of MPs, her eyes closed and a smile on her face.

"No, please, finish that, nanodesu," the destroyer-officer pleasantly said. "I'm curious where you were going with that."

"Uh, that was it," Akigumo half-lied. "So, uh, what's up, Inazuma?"

Still smiling, Inazuma pulled a stack of papers out of her hull and slapped it on Akigumo's desk with a loud thump that caused the destroyer to flinch. The mangaka carefully reached out and grabbed a sheet, looking it over. Fifteen seconds later, she placed it back, head spinning.

 _'So many numbers...'  
_  
"Do you have a tl;dr?" Akigumo asked.

"That's a list of every time you used an actual shipgirl or senior officer in one of your works," Inazuma explained. "With a royalty fee attached to each of them - at a 300% premium, as you didn't get permission for any of them."

Akigumo audibly gulped, and eyed the massive stack. "... Well. I _have_ used likenesses a lot..." she tried to reassure herself. "Uh, what's the usual royalty fee?"

Inazuma told her.

With the sound of a startled goat, Akigumo collapsed straight off her chair.

~o~

Langley sighed, placing the sheet of paper on the table in front of her. "I _told_ my husband we shouldn't have used Ava Astor in the first book..."

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

The carrier leaned away from Hornet, who was now furiously looming over an unperturbed Inazuma, one of the sheets in hand.

"This is blatantly illegal, and you know it!" the youngest Yorktown growled. "I have half a mind to-!"

What she had half a mind to do was lost forever when her lawyer leaned over and whispered something in her ear that caused her to lean back. "Shit, really?

The lawyer nodded.

"Okay, so maybe it _is_ legal," Hornet muttered, sitting back down. "But why does Langley only have to deal with _one_ of these damn ships?!"

"Because the only real people I write about, Ava Astor aside, are Titanic and myself," Langley replied.

"Yeah, but... I..." Words failed Hornet, and the carrier was reduced to funny faces and random hand gestures.

"Anyway," Inazuma said. "Just get that paid, and we'll have no problems." And then, she vanished in a flash of light.

~o~

Some minutes later in Portsmouth, Revenge and Vanguard sat down at the edge of the pier in a space cleared for them between Ramillies and Royal Oak, the former of whom handed them two cans of beer.

"So, what was so urgent?" Revenge asked. Then she frowned at the very rare smile on Royal Oak's face. "And why're ya smiling so much?"

"You'll see~!" Royal Oak sang.

And indeed, they did see. Out on the water, the sail frigate Indefatigable skipped into view, somehow dodging out of the way of a lightning-wreathed Inazuma. The Japanese destroyer looked ready to spit fire, and seemed to be trying to smack the frigate with the papers she was waving around in her hand.

"Any idea what this is about?" Vanguard wondered.

"Nope!" Royal Oak chirped. "I'm just going to enjoy it while it's happening!"


	279. Rule 2928

**Rule 2928. Shimakaze, STOP mistaking Taihou and Ryuujou as DD's just because of their *ahem* 'flight-deck chest'.  
**  
Ryujo thumbed through her mail on her way out of the mail room. Junk... bill... junk... bill... oh, another ad for a breast-growth method. She made a mental note to get that sent to Taiho and everyone else who complained about the breast size. Anyway... bill... junk... bill... junk... invitation... junk... bill...

Hang on.

Thumbing back, Ryujo pulled out a specific envelope and came to a halt to read it. It was from Shimakaze, it was a "Welcome back from your interdimensional sojourn" party, and apparently only destroyers were invited. Now, given Ryujo was a carrier, that immediately told her that an old annoyance hadn't actually gone away like she'd thought.

"Dammit, Shima, I'm a carrier, not a destroyer," she sighed, glancing down at her chest. This was, perhaps, the only time ever that she actually had a problem with her build. Going back to the invitation, she kept reading, and then hit the magic words: free cake. _Ice cream_ cake, no less.

"Well, it can't hurt to go."

~o~

An hour into the party, and so far so good. Ryujo sipped at her punch, which was surprisingly good; who knew Wakaba, of all people, knew how to make really good punch? Regardless, the cake had been delicious, the rest of the snacks were almost as good, nobody was bothering her, and she could listen to Shimakaze's story of where she'd been.

"- and that's how I punched a man with a goatee in the face and saved the world," Shimakaze finished.

"So cool!" cheered the crowd of destroyers around her, which caused Shimakaze to visibly preen. "What else can you tell us?!"

The destroyer made a show of thinking about it, complete with chin-tapping. "Well, I could talk about the time I rescued a young girl from a supervillain..." Trailing off, Shimakaze's eyes fell on a familiar mop of brown hair. "But I think Taiho wants to say something. Go ahead, Taiho!"

"Thanks. Now, let me preface this by saying that I appreciate the invitation and the free food and stuff..." Skirting around, Ryujo just managed to get Taiho's face in view as it twisted in anger. "BUT I'M NOT A DAMN DESTROYER!"

"You said a bad word!" several destroyers chorused.

"I don't give a fuck!" Taiho snapped, and Ryujo raised an eyebrow. Normally, Taiho wasn't nearly so... expressive. Hell, usually she was pretty shy and reserved. This must be really annoying her. Or maybe it was the medication they had her on. "What even makes you think I'm a destroyer, you stupid stripperboat?!"

Shimakaze blinked, and then wordlessly indicated the... chest area.

A sound that should not have been producible by a human throat tore its way out of Taiho's mouth, and Ryujo only barely managed to surge through the crowd and grab Taiho.

"Calm down, Taiho!" Ryujo pleaded. "You need to learn the subtle art of not giving a fuck, like me!"

"Never!"

"Look, I don't see what the problem is," Shimakaze interjected. "You have a flat chest, you're a destroyer. It's that simple."

"Oh really?"

Ryujo grinned and let go of Taiho. The carrier would be satisfied with this. After all, Shimakaze now had Akebono and Amagiri looming behind her looking rather annoyed, a sheepish Ushio between them.

"Uh, I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it..." Ushio tried.

"Sorry, but Shimakaze needs to learn to watch what she says," Amagiri replied, cracking her knuckles.

"What she said," Akebono agreed.

"Hold it!"

Ryujo took a nervous step back as Kiyokaze, Soyokaze, and Ookaze stepped up in defense of their sister.

"Time to go, I think," she whispered in Taiho's ear.


	280. Rule 2929

**Rule 2929. Do not steal/borrow/nic any of Akagi's private ice cream stash if you value your digits. When Akagi goes on an ice cream rampage, even Wreck gets out of the way.  
**  
When a bit of ceiling paneling fell off of Akagi's ceiling and quietly thumped into the carpet, any hypothetical observers could be forgiven for thinking that it was Sendai making with the sneaky stuff. But while the ninja was indeed the sneakiest ship Japan had, she wasn't the _only_ sneaky one. The Kongo sisters, for instance, were quite sneaky themselves, and none more so than Haruna.

Though, as the skimpy, fishnet-heavy kunoichi outfit revealed by Haruna jumping down revealed, sneakiness did not erase the quirks the entire Kongo class had.

"Now..." Haruna whispered to herself. "If Haruna was a gluttonous carrier, where would Haruna hide her ice cream?"

Slowly, the battleship's eyes fell towards the floorboards. Akagi's room rested above dirt; if there was any place that could accommodate the necessary freezer unit, it was under the floor. Pulling out a small flashlight, Haruna went to work examining the carpeting, looking for any odd seams that might indicate a hidden door.

Finally, near the center of the open space, Haruna found the seam, wedged open the door, and licked her lips at the freezer door below. "Come to Haruna..." she crooned as she opened it and stuck her hand in. "YARGH!"

Whimpering in pain, the battleship hastily withdrew her hand, and examined it to find the tips of her middle, ring, and index fingers _torn off_. Then the rest of the pain hit. As such, when Akagi rose out of the freezer, it took a second for Haruna to notice, but when she did, the whimpers only intensified.

"Haruuunaaaaa..." Akagi growled, her eyes lit by an unholy light. "You won't be daijobu when I get through with you!"

Climbing onto somewhat shaking feet, Haruna stared down Akagi, juked towards the door - and then jumped up into the ceiling again, scurrying out of sight. Akagi, meanwhile, couldn't turn fast enough and smashed through the wall, where she crouched, sniffed, and took off in another direction.

"You can't escape me!"

~o~

Of course, such a combination of destruction and loud shouting could not be missed for long. In the wake of Akagi and Haruna came a lot of sleepy carriers, and as the chase carried them into the battleship dorms, the battleships, too, were woken up.

"Th' fuck's goin' on...?" Kirishima groaned as she followed her fellow battleships. She stopped, blinked, and then grew wide-eyed when she saw a pissed-off Akagi going after Haruna. Her _little sister._ No, this would not stand!

Grabbing her glasses, the battleship tossed them aside, and when Haruna ran past, she stepped out in front of Akagi.

"That's my little sister you're threatening!" she declared. "So if-!"

That was as far as she got before Akagi's foot met her face, drove her head down into the floorboards, and then pushed off, flipping Kirishima off her back and onto her face - which had dire consequences for her neck, seeing as her head was still stuck in the floor. Musashi, Nagato, Mutsu, Hiei, Ise, Hyuga, and Fuso all winced at the ominous snapping sound; Yamashiro just giggled, then turned to Nagato and Musashi.

"So, why didn't you two try and stop her?"

"Are you kidding me?!" Nagato yelped. "Try and stop _Akagi_ when she's on an ice cream rampage?!"

"Never again..." Musashi shuddered.

~o~

After that, nobody really wanted to try stopping the pair again. And with Goto and Kongo off on a naval conference, nobody had the combination of authority and vindictiveness to try and force anyone to try. Fubuki instituted a watch, and ordered up repair crews (while consoling a sobbing Inazuma), and then sat back to wait. The day passed with only mild disturbance, Haruna and Akagi unable to gain any distance away from or towards each other.

And eventually, the sun began to go down...

Haruna's breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat stained her already-thin kunoichi outfit, though Akagi, in her white yukata, was probably even worse off in that regard. Her legs burned with exertion she'd forced on them, and she'd probably have felt lightheaded if she didn't already have a pounding dehydration headache. Every fiber of her being, not to mention her damage control fairies, was screaming at her to stop.

But she couldn't stop, not when she could still hear the thudding footsteps, the thump of a body hitting the ground, the-

Wait a minute.

Risking a glance behind her, Haruna saw Akagi sprawled out on the ground, unmoving. It could have been a trick - and at that point, Haruna officially did not care if it was a trick. She simply stopped her legs, and collapsed to the ground, gasping.

"V-Victory..." she wheezed.


	281. Rule 2932

**Rule 2932. All carrier girls are to cease sneaking into the aircraft boneyards for "snacks". As much as you'd justify it as "recycling", a LOT of the materials there still need processing.  
**  
"Why are all my carriers down for repairs?!"

Admiral Holloway was... upset. Angry. Incensed. Irate. Madder than an alley cat in a dog pound. Pick your choice of synonym. And who could blame him? When most of his carriers were, as he said, pulled off the front lines for repairs.

"Not _all_ of them," both Hornets said in eerie synchronicity.

Sighing, some of the tension bled out of Holloway's shoulders, enough that he wasn't yelling when he spoke again.

"Yes, that's something, at least," he said. "Who else is still upright?"

"Basically just Yorkie and Sara," the short of the two carriers said. "Everyone else is completely laid out."

"At this point, we're just waiting on the report from Medusa."

As if on cue, the door swung open, a haggard-looking Medusa slouching in. "USS Medusa, reporting..." she slurred.

That was as far as she got before Wright marched in after her and grabbed her by the shoulder. "I told you, I'm not letting you try and talk to the Admiral in that state!" she snapped, before throwing an apologetic look over her shoulder. "Sorry, Admiral. I have her full written report on my desk; you'll have to read that while she _gets some sleep."  
_  
Some unspoken communication passed between Holloway, Hornet, and Hornet, and the shorter, older Hornet followed Wright out the door, returning a few seconds later with a long report, scrutinizing it.

"What's it say?" Hornet asked.

"Dunno. It all looks like squiggles."

"Probably doctor shorthand. Here, lemme take a look."

Hornet handed the report over, and Hornet flipped through the pages, humming every so often. After several minutes, Hornet nodded and closed up the report.

"Okay, I had to skim the report, so I probably missed some details, but the gist is that it's similar to when Yorktown ate a laptop," she reported.

A half-sigh, half-moan fled Holloway's mouth, even as his head came to a rest in his arms. Hornet outright facepalmed.

"You're supposed to be the _sensible one,_ sis!" Spreading her fingers to reveal her eyes, she asked, "What'd they eat this time?"

"Uhh..." Hornet flipped through the pages again, frowning. "I'm not sure. The writing's even more illegible than usual there."

Suddenly, Holloway's desk phone rang, surprisingly not interrupting anybody. The Admiral glanced over at the caller ID. "Air Force," he almost spat, grabbing the receiver and then placing it back. "Continue, Hor-"

The phone rang again. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Holloway again checked the caller ID, and this time picked it up. "Hello? ... Admiral Holloway, US Navy, yes. My secretary had to step out for a bit. ... A whole DC-10?!"

The two Hornets exchanged wide-eyed glances. "You think-"

"Right, right, I'll talk to our people about compensation," Holloway interrupted. "And a punishment for those responsible. Yes, especially that. ... Yeah, well, the Air Force can go suck it. ... Yes, feel free to tell them that. Goodbye." And with that, he hung up.

"So-" Hornet began.

"Yes, they went to an aircraft boneyard and started snacking," Holloway said, causing the two Hornets to slump over in depression. "Specifically, they went to Davis-Monthan and Kingman Airport."

Before Holloway could explain any further, the phone rang again. Sighing, Holloway checked the caller ID again - and nearly tore the phone out of the wall in his haste to pick it up. "Hello, yes! ... Ah, no, I'm afraid those parts aren't coming back. ... Look, who's the expert on shipgirl biology, again?" Holloway's face paled dramatically. "S-Sorry, won't happen again. I assure you, the perpetrators will be punished. Heavily. ... Ah, yes, good talking to you. Goodbye."

"So, uh, who was that?" Hornet asked as soon as Holloway finished putting down the receiver.

"That was NASA..." Holloway said in the sort of tone usually reserved for Pelelieu veterans. "Apparently Philippine Sea ate the last B-57 in the boneyard..."

Though the shorter Hornet just blinked at that, the taller Hornet had to resist the urge to scream in existential terror. She'd worked with NASA. She knew how they could get. So...

"Please don't turn my sisters over to NASA!" she wailed, sprawling down to clutch Holloway's leg.

"What do you think I am, some kind of monster?!" Holloway yelped. "Now let go of my leg!"


	282. Rule 2938

**Rule 2938. To all battleships: We will not equip you with ramjet shells.**

Thursdays in San Diego were tabletop nights, shipgirls gathering to play a mix of board games and miniature-based RPGs, all run by Wisconsin. But there was one game that was conspicuous in its absence.

"You guys _do_ have Warhammer 40K, right?"

The battleship flinched and looked over her shoulder at Cabot, who looked annoyed.

"I mean, you've got Warhammer Fantasy Battle right out in the open, where-"

"Ssh!" Wisconsin hissed, eyes darting about the room. "Be quiet! Or I'm not telling you where the 40K group is!"

The light carrier blinked, and followed Wisconsin's gaze. There was Alabama playing Settlers of Catan, there was Missouri dueling Washington in a game of chess, there was North Carolina bemoaning something about her bard.

"Okay..." Cabot said in a much quieter voice. "So, why don't you want the battleships to know about 40K?"

"Two words: bolter rounds."

Cabot turned that over, getting an image of ramjet-powered battleship shells and lots of cackling. "I think I see the point," she admitted. "So where...?"

"Go check out the poster," Wisconsin said, pointing to a rather ragged Welcome to the Party communism poster. Cabot walked up to it, and slowly examined it. Nothing was apparent, but then she put her hand on Karl Marx and felt a little give. Pressing harder, she yelped as the wall swung around and swept her into a passageway.

"Huh. Cool," she said to herself. Soon, she reached another, much more visible door, and swung it open to find a gaggle of cruisers sitting around a miniature-laden table - oh, and Samuel B. Roberts, sulking behind her large Khornate army.

"Look, Sammy, we're not telling you to start being cautious or something, but at least change up your offensive tactics," Wilkes-Barre seemed to be lecturing at the DE. "You do the same thing over and over often enough, and even a monkey will figure out a counter."

"If Sammy B's out for a while, mind if I cut in?" Cabot interrupted.

"And me, too!"

Everyone froze at the familiar voice. Well, everyone except Sammy B., who was still sulking.

"H-Hi, Dakota," Fargo, the apparent GM of the group, stammered. "W-What b-brings you h-here?"

"Well, see, I found these books." Cabot heard a rustling sound, and risked turning around. There, in South Dakota's hand, was a Ciaphas Cain novel. Crap. "And they all said they were based on a tabletop game, one that I hadn't seen. So I thought to myself, if it's big enough to have _novels,_ why isn't it in the rotation?"

A cold wind blew through the room, which was impressive, given it was ventilated primarily by the two doors.

 _"Because you were hiding it from me."  
_  
Poor Vincennes outright fainted as the temperature in the room dropped even further. Just about everyone else wasn't in much better condition. Nobody noticed Sammy B. perk up suddenly.

"Were you afraid of the technology hidden within? That it would give me ideas? Pshaw! I have no time for devices that have their own will. So, I don't think there'll be any problem to me joining in WHARGLBLARGL!"

The cold vanished, as did the fear, and Cabot finally turned around again just in time to see Sammy B. hurl South Dakota through a wall. Hard enough that the battleship went through _both_ walls and exposed their hidden room.

And sure enough, several battleship heads poked in.

"Great..." Fargo groaned.

~o~

"Great..." Phoenix groaned.

Outside, most of San Diego's battleships were clamoring outside her door, demanding the ramjet shells they were convinced Phoenix had. She didn't. That was more South Dakota's bailiwick, and her partner was laid up for the foreseeable future due to the beating Sammy B. had laid on her. At least Iowa was still in Hawaii, otherwise this might have been unbearable.

Sighing, Phoenix walked up to the door, sucked in a deep breath, opened the door, and _shouted_.

"SHUT UP!"

Amazingly, they did.

"Okay, look, bothering me isn't going to make South Dakota recover any faster, and she's the one who can make those shells," Phoenix explained. "So if you could all go away for a few days, that'd be great."

Silence. And then the din began again.


	283. Rule 2945

**Rule 2945. Stacking on top of each other is not a proper formation.  
**  
Nagara took another chug of water. The cruiser was fresh from training, though not so fresh that she hadn't already showered and changed out of her workout clothes into comfy sweatpants and t-shirt. Now she was heading back to her room to just veg and rest her sore muscles.

However, as she entered the next courtyard, she found a curious sight: four destroyers, Arare, Kasumi, Kagero, and Shiranui, all stacked on top of each other, with Kagero on the bottom, straining to hold them all up.

"Can we start the next phase already?" she groaned. "'Cause I don't know how much longer I can hold you guys up!"

In response, Kasumi kicked her heel into Kagero's forehead. "This was your idea, so suck it up! Whoa!"

That last exclamation came because Arare, who was at the top of the stack, swayed just a _little_ too far, unbalancing them and sending all the destroyers tumbling to the ground. Nagara chuckled, and made her way over to the groaning destroyers, intent on dispensing some sage advice.

"Shiranui can't feel her hips..." Shiranui groaned, before twitching. "Oh, wait, there it is. Ow."

"Ow..." Arare agreed.

"And to think, this isn't even in the top ten stupidest ideas you've had, Kagero," Kasumi added. "That should tell you something."

"I just don't know what went wrong..." Kagero whined.

And that was her cue. "Well, even if you pulled it off, it wouldn't do what you're hoping it would do," Nagara said. "At least, assuming you're trying it for the same reasons those Abyssals I fought the other day were."

That prompted all the destroyers to sit up and give her an expectant look. "Well, don't just leave us in suspense!" Kasumi demanded.

Chuckling, Nagara said, "So I was out patrolling with Nenohi, Wakaba, and Hatsushimo..."

~o~

 _"The heck is that?"_

 _At Hatsushimo's words, Nenohi and Nagara exchanged confused glances, Wakaba continuing to quietly steam along._

 _"The heck is what?" Nagara asked, attempting to follow Hatsushimo's gaze. Nothing. Maybe something on the horizon. Nenohi, on the other hand, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped._

 _"Wow..." she breathed. "Every time I wonder how we're winning this war, the Abyssals do something like this and remind me why."_

 _"Okay, seriously, getting kind of annoyed here," Nagara groused._

 _"Best we head towards it, anyway," Hatsushimo said._

 _With that, the small force shifted course towards the mystery contact. It wasn't long before Hatsushimo and Nenohi practically choked on their own spit and nearly tripped over their own feet, respectively. And now, Nagara had an idea why._

 _For there, sitting on the horizon, was a quartet of Ho-class light cruisers. Except they weren't in a sensible line ahead formation, nosiree! No, they had somehow come to the conclusion that_ stacking themselves _on top of each other was the way to go. Daft, utterly daft._

 _And then, with a little more distance covered the sense of utter nonsense only intensified: the light cruisers were_ spinning. _Slowly, but they were spinning. Why? Who knows. The Abyssals probably had some sort of reason that seemed good in their fever-dream minds, but Nagara couldn't think of it._

 _"Right. Let's just put these guys out of their misery," she decided. From the loading sounds coming from the destroyers, they agreed with that sentiment._

 _By silent agreement, torpedoes were selected for a quick game of daruma otoshi. And Abyssals this daft would probably be accommodating, so they aggressively closed the range. They were just closing into effective gun range when one of the Ho-class, in spinning around in their direction, visibly started, and then tapped the one above it. That one immediately fired its guns upon getting the right bearing, and the whole stack followed that up by spinning even faster, blurring out of sight, and firing their guns, probably as fast as they could be loaded._

 _This, of course, just resulted in the shells going wide. Still, it at least left the shipgirls gaping in astonishment instead of attacking, at least until Wakaba shook off her surprise and tried to close again. That action triggered a response from the Abyssals, in the form of the spinning tower shifting directions and charging at Wakaba. Well._ Trying _to charge at Wakaba. The destroyer made a minor course adjustment, the Abyssals didn't respond, and thus she was given an ideal angle to fire her torpedoes as the Abyssals blithely cruised past._

 _The spinning showed another benefit at this point: the spin knocked the torpedoes off course just as they were about to hit. Though it wasn't actually that helpful. At such short range, the oxygen tanks had enough to still go boom when they ruptured upon impact with the spin - and that set off the warheads._

 _Daruma otoshi. Knock out the bottom, and the whole stack comes undone. So it was with the stack of Ho-class; once their bottom died to the torpedoes, the rest were pitched upon the waves, their design at least allowing them to land upright. They took one look at the odds, at Nagara, Hatushimo, and Nenohi bearing down on them, and decided to get while the getting was good._

 _"Well," Wakaba remarked. "That was weird."_

~o~

"So it does work, I was right!" Kagero crowed.

"What?!" Nagara yelped. "That's, like, the _exact opposite_ of what I was trying to say!"

"Don't worry about it, Nagara," Kasumi sighed, planting a commiserating hand on the light cruiser's shoulder. "We'll talk he rout of it. That's what we always do."


	284. Rule 2957

**Rule 2947. Kiyoshimo, stop wheedling Wreck for a "Re-class" upgrade.  
**  
"She can do _what?!"  
_  
Eyes turned towards the source of the shriek, and then turned away again once they saw that it was just Kiyoshimo. Ikazuchi, the recipient of the shout, wasn't nearly so lucky.

"Loud..." she groused, rubbing her ears. "But yeah, it's _Wreck_. The fact that she's, like, the mother of all Re-class isn't exactly a _secret."  
_  
"I thought that was just figurative!" Kiyoshimo protested, before taking a deep, calming breath. "Okay. So Wreck can turn..." She frowned. "What, exactly, can she turn into a Re-class battleship?"

"Shipgirls," Ikazuchi answered around a mouthful of fried rice. "Obviously, no one's taken her up on the offer."

The instant Ikazuchi said that, she immediately regretted it, because an unholy glint came into Kiyoshimo's eyes. And she immediately clamped down on a bit of speculation she'd had: that Wreck, these days, would only turn you into a Re-class if you were about to _sink_. Definitely not something to tell the younger destroyer. The madwoman would likely _try it.  
_  
Unfortunately, Kiyoshimo bolted out the mess before she could do anything else, screaming "I'M GONNA BE A BAAAAAAATTLESHIIIIIIIP!" At that, Ikazuchi let her head hit the table.

"Oh man, Wreck's gonna _kill me."_

~o~

In fact, Wreck did _not_ kill her. See, in her enthusiasm, Kiyoshimo had immediately bolted for Haneda and bought a ticket, not considering a few important things. First, and most important, she had no idea where Wreck was. And considering the Abyssal was running a presidential campaign, she was on the move constantly. So that was a problem. Just as bad was the fact that she hadn't applied for leave - and that the day she left, Admiral Goto arrived back from the conference he and Kongo were attending, just in time to relieve a stressed, strung-out Fubuki, but not in time to keep her from learning about Kiyoshimo's stunt.

The result was that Kiyoshimo's wandering road trip after Wreck gained a rabid follower. US authorities were not amused.

And so, about a week later, that leads us to our scene: Wreck, at yet another donation luncheon, this one in Austin, standing aside to talk to her security team.

[... I'm sorry. I must have heard you wrong,] Wreck said in flat disbelief.

"Sorry, ma'am, but it's true," the poor hapless guard who had to report this said. "We've got a Japanese destroyer trying to get in to see you-"

As if on cue, the doors to the conference hall they were using were kicked down, and Kiyoshimo stomped in to frightened screams and startled shouts. The destroyer had several security personnel hanging off of her, and in between them she, quite bluntly, looked like shit. Her grey hair was limp, greasy, and frazzled. Her clothes were stained and wrinkled. At least she didn't smell too bad, but the wild look in her eyes kind of cancelled that out.

"I finally found you!" Kiyoshimo declared. "Wreck! I demand that you turn me into a battleship! Immediately!"

[Oh, goddammit, I was hoping to keep that quiet...] Wreck groaned, bringing her hand to her face. Even her tail seemed embarrassed. [Look, I'm not turning you into an Abyssal for a _variety_ of reasons, so if you could just go home, that'd be great.]

"No! I've come too far, gone through too much _shit,_ to give up with the prize right in sight!"

Growling, Wreck was about to retort when the hapless guard from earlier tapped her shoulder. [What?] she growled, shooting the poor man a glare that could peel paint off a battleship.

"Uh, I just thought you should know that there's another Japanese destroyer approaching. This one much faster."

Wreck blinked in befuddlement. [Okay, Kiyoshimo I get-]

"I'm still waiting for an answer!"

[Screw off, brat, I'm a little busy here!] Wreck snapped, before turning back to the guard. [Where were we? Oh, yeah, who the hell else in that godforsaken navy has any reason to be _here_ , of all places?]

"... leeeeeeeeave..."

Wreck blinked again. [Uh, I'm not the only one who heard that, am I?]

The security guard grimaced, which was _not_ comforting at all.

"... Leeeeeeeeeave...!"

[I think that's coming from the doors...] Wreck muttered, moving in line with the busted entrance. As such, she was perfectly positioned to get bowled over when Fubuki charged in to loom menacingly over Kiyoshimo, who suddenly didn't look nearly as eager to start shit as she used to.

"YOU DIDN'T APPLY FOR LEAVE..."

That was as far as she got before a wave of what could only be described as pure, undiluted, pants-wetting terror enveloped the room. Most of the visiting donors fainted. The security team was left to curl up in fetal positions. And both Kiyoshimo and Fubuki very quickly dropped any hint of attitude. Especially with the primordial Abyssal stalking up to them.

[Is it too much to ask for a _fucking peaceful luncheon?_ Get out, never drop into one of my events, and count yourselves lucky you caught me in a good mood, else I'd do something far, far worse.]

There was a long pause after the speech. And then both destroyers bolted like they had a battleship on their tails, which they did, in a way. Once they were gone, Wreck let out a sigh of relief, dampened down the aura, and turned back around. [Now, I believe we- aw, nuts.]

Yeah, everyone was still completely debilitated from earlier. Damn destroyers.


	285. Rule 2950

**Rule those who feel that convoy escort is "Beneath their station", keep in mind that most of the supplies they carry keep you fed.  
**  
Teruzuki led Yoizuki, Natsuzuki, and Hanazuki out of the briefing room amid a stream of other girls. Now, normally, they weren't grouped up like this, and especially not for a convoy run instead of a fleet action. There were only twelve Akizuki-class, after all, and anti-aircraft was always in demand. But after the last convoy had gotten sandwiched between a pair of Re-class battleships and submarine pack and gotten most of its precious oil tankers and LNG carriers sunk in pretty spectacular fashion, the JMSDF was pulling out all the stops for the super-sized convoy that was being sent. Yamato and Musashi were being budgeted as part of the distant escort, as were Unryuu, Amagi, Katsuragi, and Kasagi, plus scads of cruisers and destroyers, and the standard close escort mix cranked up in size.

Naturally, this unusual use of heavy fleet units in a convoy escort role was provoking... disagreement. And not from the usual suspects, either.

"This sucks!" Hanazuki groused on the way to the mess to fuel up. "Convoy duty. Pah! It's beneath us!"

Yoizuki raised an eyebrow at the loud comments. "What, d'you want to be fighting surface actions or something?"

"Well, no, not with only four torpedo tubes. But we should be escorting something high-value, going off in a glorious Decisive Battle, not babysitting a bunch of fucking _merchies!"  
_  
There was no verbal response to that from her sisters, but Yoizuki rolled her eyes, Natsuzuki gave her one of her patented stares, and Teruzuki... did nothing, apparently. Luckily, Hanazuki shut up until they hit the mess, at which point she got distracted by another destroyer sharing gossip. And so she didn't notice when Teruzuki said something to the cooks. She didn't notice what was put on her plate, even, not until she sat down. And she was not happy when she saw what it was.

"The fuck is this?" she demanded, poking her plain white rice with a chopstick. Besides the four bowls of rice, there was a sad little scoop of soybean paste, a grilled mackerel filet, and some pickles.

"That," Teruzuki said in a voice to freeze _helium._ "Is what we're all eating if the convoys don't get through. And the mackerel is on a good day. You remember that, don't you?"

Hanazuki flinched. Yes, she remembered the lean times from her short war service, as much as she didn't want to.

"Okay, you've made your point," she said, almost pleading. "I'll shut up about the convoy thing."

Still smiling, Teruzuki said, "Very good."

~o~

That convoy went off without a hitch, and to build up lost stores, another mega-convoy was planned. Yamato and Musashi were swapped out for Nagato and Mutsu, and the four Unryu class carriers were replaced with Shokaku and Zuikaku, the latter with her latest upgrade.

Unfortunately, that upgrade came with... side effects.

"I still don't see why I have to guard lowly _merchants,"_ she grumbled as Shokaku followed her to the water. "It's beneath us, and it's beneath _me_ especially."

*CLONK!*

"Ow!" Zuikaku yelped, clutching her head. "What was that for?!"

"Sorry, my hand slipped," Shokaku said sweetly. "And if you don't want to help with the convoys, I'm sure you won't mind sticking to the foods that _aren't_ shipped over."

Zuikaku's attitude did an immediate 180 at those words. "Well, since it's a lawful order by a superior officer, I guess I'm obligated to swallow my pride and do my best!"

"Atta girl."


	286. Rule 2951

**Rule 2951. Yorktown and Lexington, despite what you think, the Essex-class carriers aren't clones or a hive-mind.  
**  
"Damn that Yorktown," Intrepid grumbled to herself.

"What did you say?!" her sister Yorktown bellowed.

"Not you!" Intrepid snapped back, prompting the other carrier to sit down. Sadly, the exchange dragged the already sour mood down even further. And what was the source of this sour mood? It was the whole boneyard incident that Yorktown had dragged them all into. Not only had they had to undergo a painful and uncomfortable procedure to undo the food poisoning they'd given themselves, Admiral Holloway had then taken a delightful glee in restricting their usual privileges.

And it was all Yorktown's fault.

This was the scene Hornet arrived to: a lounge stuffed to the gills with sulking Essex-class aircraft carriers. "Jesus, did somebody die?" she wondered aloud.

Intrepid picked this moment to repeat her earlier declaration, except louder. "Damn that Yorktown!"

At this, Hornet's face fell into unimpressed blandness. "You guys are still salty about that?" she said. "I mean, yeah, Yorktown was being an idiot, but you guys all listened to her! Who's the bigger idiot: the idiot that comes up with the idea, or the idiots that follow them?"

"Shut up, Hornet!" Antietam snapped. "Yes, we were idiots! Happy?!"

"Not really..." Hornet muttered, before perking up as an idea came to her. "Though I just thought of a way to get back at Yorktown without much of a risk of censure from command!"

"Yeah, and I've got a bridge across Lake Champlain to sell you," Bennington snarked.

"There's a bridge across the lake and you know it!" Lake Champlain shouted.

"Maybe we could actually listen to what Hornet has to say?" Randolph... "suggested". All the Essexes that had been standing sat down again, suitably chastised.

"Thank you, Randolph. Now, my plan is, since we're all sisters, with a bit of cosmetic work and some changes to our uniforms, we could probably all pass as clones. And if we all speak in unison whenever any two of us are in the room..."

Faces lit up all over the room. "We'll drive her crazy," Yorktown said, grinning. "I love it."

"We don't look _that_ similar, do we?" Wasp wondered, scanning over the room. Once she was done, she simply blinked, nonplussed. "Huh. We do look really similar. I never really noticed."

"That's 'cause we're sisters," Essex said. "So we know all the little things that differentiate us. Everyone else? Won't be so lucky."

"Good, then it's settled," Hornet declared. "My suggestion? Have as much fun as you can with this."

~o~

The next morning, San Diego found quite the sight in the mess: all twenty Essex sisters sitting together, all dressed in the same uniform and with identical hairstyles. Now, the Essex sisters looked very similar under normal circumstances, but all styled their hair and clothing differently. Remove that difference, and everyone else found themselves suitably disturbed by how _identical_ they all looked.

Oh, and they were all staring at Yorktown. It was intensely creepy.

It was also something that attracted the attention of Coral Sea, who put on her best stern face and marched over to the group. "You there!" she announced once she was close enough. "Who's in charge here?"

As one, twenty heads turned on twenty necks, forty eyes boring into Coral Sea. "What's up?" twenty voices chorused in eerie unison.

Gulping, Coral Sea began to shuffle backwards. "Er, ah, n-nothing, nothing. Have a nice day, ladies!" And then, just before it was socially acceptable to do so, the carrier spun on her heel and bolted.

That was the pattern, even as the sisters split up for the usual duties. They were always found in pairs, and would always, always respond in eerie unison to whatever name they were called.

And that's not counting two carriers that had to be Hornet and Shangri-La teaming up to basically haunt Yorktown. Through the walls...

"Hey, Yorktown, could we borrow a pencil?"

"Yaugh!

From the ceiling...

"Could you pass on a message to Enterprise for us?"

"Jesus Christ!"

In the bathroom...

"Oh, good, you have some extra toilet paper. You won't mind if we take some, would you?"

"GET OUT!"

"Touchy..."

Everyone went to bed with heavy hearts, anticipating a repeat the next day. But when they woke, the Essex sisters were back to their individual selves. By unspoken agreement, everyone decided to drop it.

Everyone except Yorktown. Though in her case, it was because she _couldn't.  
_  
"Hey, Franklin!" she called out, only to have both Franklin and the other carrier with her turn around and say "Yes?" in unison. Yorktown immediately hit the brakes and sprinted the other way, leaving Franklin and Bunker Hill to their giggles.


	287. Rule 2954

**Rule 2954. Yes, we realize that Admiral Lombard's record has more blacked out sections then most Special Forces operatives. That does not mean that she was a member of some special black ops group. Or some international conspiracy.  
**  
While Aoba may not have been able to publish her newsletter anymore, that didn't stop her from hunting for Truth! Mostly, that meant collecting base gossip and using that to get all sorts of favors and privileges. Sometimes, that meant a little old investigative journalism, the results of which would be passed on, sat on, or discarded as needed.

This latest bit of documentation she'd dug up was _very_ interesting indeed. Some enterprising soul had gotten ahold of the service records of every shipgirl admiral, and after shutting the jackass down Aoba had settled in to read over the dossiers before she tossed them into digital oblivion. For the most part, they were boringly straightforward, though the number of writeups Admiral Hartmann had gotten for bar fights as a young sailor was amusing. Admiral Lombard's, though, caught her eye immediately.

And that was mostly for what _wasn't_ shown, rather than what _was_ shown. Fully half the document was redacted in black ink. Not that the parts she _could_ read were boring, nope. Her's was the only document with a section on her _high school_ years - and that one was a veritable _sea_ of black ink.

"Well, isn't this interesting," Aoba remarked. "I wonder what's behind all that black ink? Should I go hunting for an unredacted version?" She considered it for a bit, then shook her head. "Nah, bad idea."

Instead, Aoba carefully stashed away the redacted file, closed her computer, and went to dinner, determined to put it out of her mind. This was a mistake. Because the original hacker she'd shut down had, in fact, survived, and while she was at dinner, dumped his documents on the internet.

So it was the next morning that as she entered the mess for breakfast, Aoba was greeted with the sounds of discussion - of _Lombard's_ _dossier._

"So, do you think she was a magical girl?!" she heard from Kiyoshimo.

"Oh, definitely Special Forces," Hiryu said confidently. "That bit while she was a lieutenant? Definitely fighting terrorists. Probably with her bare hands."

"I'm telling you, this is proof of the great fluoride conspiracy!" Ise declared to a rapt audience of destroyers. "She was an agent removing people who disc-" WHAP! "Argh!"

"Stop filling their heads with bullshit," Hyuga groused.

"I'll tell you what caused all those redactions!" Kongo confidently declared, before adopting a familiar grin. "Aliens."

Aoba got her food, taking in all the bits and bobs of speculation floating through the mess. Most of it was utterly ridiculous, of course. But the special forces idea was disturbingly plausible. And the magical girl idea was even _more_ disturbingly plausible, given Kiyoshimo's run-in with a redheaded magical girl and a white bunnycat. Regardless, the heavy cruiser resolved to never speak of this unless directly asked by a superior officer.

~o~

"Janet."

Admiral Lombard blinked and looked up, seeing a small, two-foot figure standing on her desk. The figure somewhat resembled a rabbit - if it stood on two legs, had hands attached to its ears, and wore a mini-sized three-piece suit. The admiral smirked.

"Finally ditched the old jumpsuit, eh, Buha?" she said.

"Oh, you have no idea how good it felt to be _rid_ of that thing," Buha grumbled. "Seriously, why did _you_ get to update your outfit to a more mature look - repeatedly! - while I got stuck with that cutesy crap for _decades?!"  
_  
"Because you mouthed off repeatedly to your superiors and helped me break the rules so many times?" Lombard cheekily answered.

"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me..." the odd animal grumbled. "Anyway, much as I'd wish otherwise, this isn't a social call."

Lombard sighed, and stood, reaching under her shirt. "How many, and how close?"

"A lot, all clustered by that Abyssal scrapyard you guys seem to have."

Palm, meet face. "They're attracted to Abyssal spookiness..." she groaned. "Because of _course_ they are. Seriously, I should have seen this coming."

"You have an important day job now, I don't blame you. And really, command should have gotten a successor by now," Buha replied, hopping up to the window. "Shall we?"

Grinning, Lombard pulled out a small, teardrop-shaped gem, hanging from her neck via necklace string. "Starfall!" she declared.

A flash of light burst into life around Lombard's body, wrapping around her and then pulling close. When the light faded, Lombard wore not her usual uniform, but a navy blue long-sleeved sailor top, white maple leaves emblazoned on the shoulders. Blue boots wrapped around her legs to just about mid-thigh, black stockings or pantyhose reaching up from under the boots under a black pencil skirt. Black fingerless gloves and a white sailor cap finished the look. Buha raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that's a change," she remarked.

"Shipgirls have some _damn_ nice uniforms, so it felt appropriate to borrow one," Lombard replied. "Besides, it's also a nice bit of plausible deniability. Now let's go already!"

And with that, Magical Girl Star Reverie and her mentor mascot leaped out the window and into the night.


	288. Rule 2955

**Rule 2955. You may not conduct initiation ceremonies for new commanding officers.  
**  
Lieutenant - no, _Admiral_ \- Amanda Russo fidgeted in her seat, hoping that her nervous sweat wasn't being noticed. What the hell was she doing here, sitting in a staff car with _Roma_ heading to _Taranto_ to _take command of the goddamn shipgirl force?!_ She was a fresh-faced lieutenant promoted two months earlier! Hell, she was on the _shore_ track! She got _seasick!  
_  
"Don't be so nervous," Roma cut in, making the poor woman even more nervous. "Nobody expects you to step in and be amazing on the first day. I've run this base for months now; helping you transition into the command will be easy by comparison."

Poor Amanda merely tried to squish herself into her seat. No! Roma was going to be watching her the whole time!

She stayed that way up until the car pulled up to the naval base - and then shook as it ran over something with an ominous _THUMP._ Immediately the car stopped, Roma clambered out, sighed, and said, "Well, might as well meet your first problem child right off the bat."

The reluctant Admiral didn't really want to look, to deal with this. But Roma's tone brooked no argument, so she leaned her head out of the car and looked behind them.

There, lying in the middle of the road was the heavy cruiser Pola, completely naked except for the tire track running across her spine and the bottle of some sort of alcohol clutched to her chest, and softly snoring, as if she hadn't just been run over.

"So, how would you handle something like this?" Roma queried. "I know how I'd handle it, so don't feel pressured to give the 'right' answer, but I want to hear your opinion."

Admiral Russo froze, the memorized regulations warring in her mind with the knowledge that these were _shipgirls,_ an irreplaceable resource that needed to be treated with care. She opened her mouth. A timid squeak came out instead of words. The driver pressed his head against the wheel of the car, fighting the urge to squeal and hug his ostensibly superior officer. And Roma just sighed.

"We'll work on that," she said, retrieving her cell phone. "I'm going to call Zara, she usually handles her sister."

Something about that niggled at Russo's brain, but her overwhelming anxiety smothered it before the thought could even form. So she meekly sat back in the car for the short distance they needed to go to get to the motor pool.

"We'll head to headquarters to get you settled in," Roma explained as they exited the car. "Hopefully we can get there without-"

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"- any trouble," Roma sighed. "Alright, let's see what _that's_ all about."

Russo followed after Roma as the battleship made her way around some buildings and into one of the base's many courtyards, where they were greeted to the very curious sight of the torpedo boat Lupo sitting on a makeshift wooden throne, wearing nothing but a towel around her torso and another one around her hair, surrounded by bowing torpedo boats - and Calliope, who looked decidedly unimpressed.

"Fool!" Lupo declared. Both Roma and Russo got a sudden feeling they were missing a large chunk of conversational context. "If you will not kneel before Lord Belly-Cloth, you-!"

"Will suffer eternal torment and spiders all over, yadda yadda I heard you already," Calliope deadpanned. "Look, just knock it off, okay? Before someone senior..." Suddenly, she turned around, seeing Russo and Roma. "Shows up."

Lupo blinked, glanced their way, and chuckled nervously. "So, ah, I'll just... retire all of this, if that sounds good?"

"Do so," Roma said, and Lupo clambered down and disappeared, the other torpedo boats setting to work dismantling the throne.

Nobody said anything as they set out into the base proper, Russo once again having a feeling of "not right". Now, though, she could actually think about it, and it definitely had something to do with discipline. Something was off there...

The new Admiral was broken out of her thoughts at the sounds of angry shouting, and then at the sight of a decidedly haggard-looking Fiume. The heavy cruiser took one look at Roma and latched onto her with all the strength of a desperate barnacle.

"Roma, thank God!" she declared. "Please, you've got to help me and Gorizia!"

"What's going on? And did Zara get my message?"

Wordlessly, Fiume kicked open a nearby door, letting the angry noises spill out freely.

"Zara, please, just give up!"

"Give up?! Never! I'm not going to let this game beat me, I- VAFFANCULO!"

There was a crashing sound, and at this point Russo cut into the conversation. "What is she _playing?!"  
_  
A look of the purest despair passed over Fiume's face. Were she a magical girl, she would have gone from clean to Witch in two seconds flat. Villains the multiverse over would give up their plans for just a _chance_ to see such pure despair.

"Getting Over It with Bennett Foddy," she answered.

Roma and Russo both blanched. "Uh, well, good luck with that," Roma said nervously. "Just FYI, Pola passed out drunk and naked outside again, so if you could go collect her...?"

"I volunteer!" Fiume shouted, before immediately zipping away.

For once, as she and Roma set out again, Russo didn't feel that pang of wrongness. No way did she want to deal with that.

~o~

Finally, three hours, one crashed Aquila, one panicking, cosmetics-smeared Giulio Cesare running away from Conte Di Cavour, three screaming Trentos running from a confused Luigi Torelli, two Luigi Cadorna rants on shell quality, and five sobbing destroyers later, Russo collapsed into her very comfy chair, while Roma just melted into a boneless heap on the floor in front of the desk.

"Please tell me that that was some sort of initiation ceremony," Russo groaned. "A hazing ritual, _something_ out of the ordinary!"

"I wish... This isn't the worst day I've had... and probably doesn't make old Admiral Colombo's top five..."

At this point, the niggling thought that had been building all day suddenly shone in bright clarity: discipline. Or lack thereof.

"Roma," Admiral Russo growled. "Send out a fleetwide message to meet up in the main courtyard at 0500 tomorrow morning so I can... _greet_ my new command."

Roma shivered at the tone in her new Admiral's voice. Looks like the politicians _hadn't_ totally screwed up this time! One quick hail Mary later, and Roma stood and enthusiastically said, "Yes ma'am!"

"Don't call me ma'am," Russo immediately cut in. "Makes me think of my grandmother. Old bint..."

"Ah, yes, Admiral."

~o~

 _The next morning:  
_  
Roma whistled as the cowed Italian shipgirls streamed out of the courtyard, then turned to her Admiral, who was squatting behind the podium hyperventilating into a paper bag. "Good job," she said. "Though you're going to need to follow up, and hard."

Muffled, "I know." One last breath, and she put aside the bag, sending Roma a pleading look. "You'll help me, right?"

In her head, Roma was practically singing praises to the heavens for deliverance from the chains of _flag leadership._ Outwardly, she just chuckled and said "Of course I will."


	289. Rule 2956

**Rule 2956. You may not bomb Abyssals with candy to get the destroyers to charge.  
**  
"Could somebody please torpedo that cruiser?!" Bearn roared as she ducked under a salvo of shells. Growling, she fired off more 6" guns again, despite knowing that it wouldn't do a damn thing. It made her feel better, dammit!

At least she was better off than Colossus. Bearn couldn't imagine fighting this war with no gun on hand bigger than 40mm. Speaking of...

"Is it always like this?!" the light carrier wailed as another salvo sailed over her head.

"Yeah, pretty much!" Bearn shouted back.

"This" was an Abyssal heavy cruiser using them for target practice. Where were their escorts? Well, Suffren and Duquesne were busy playing whack-a-mole with a pair of light cruisers, and their destroyers, six ships of the L'Adroit class, were happily huddling well back from the battle.

"Okay, I think this situation qualifies as 'supremely dire'!" Colossus suddenly declared, reaching into her hold. "So it's time to use those special munitions Argus gave me!"

"You're not-" Bearn began, only to almost come to a screeching halt as she saw that yes, Colossus was trying to _load up a plane._ While _under fire_. And _succeeded_ , which was perhaps the most incredible part.

Well, for about two seconds, whereupon an 8" shell had the colossal good fortune to land right on the Avenger, blasting it to pieces and spraying... candy? All over the mad Brit.

"Dammit!" Colossus roared.

"Why candy...?" Bearn wondered. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her, and she slowly began to edge away from the British carrier.

"Oh, to attract destroyers, of course!" Colossus answered. And then, Bearn was treated to that dawning moment of comprehension enjoyed by sadists and stuffed tigers the world over. Slowly, Colossus turned around - just in time to get a ballistic Brestois to the breasts. And the rest of their destroyers weren't far behind.

As Colossus screamed in pants-wetting terror, Bearn made a hasty exit stage left, and eyed the Abyssal heavy cruiser again. And happy day, it looked totally befuddled by what was going on! Grinning, Bearn creeped closer, and closer, and then, at ranges John Paul Jones would have considered close, fired her 6" guns. The Abyssal screamed as the armor-piercing rounds punched through its armor to detonate within, and the carrier didn't let up, firing and firing until it slumped to the water - and then firing again, just for good measure.

Satisfied that their opponent was dead, Bearn turned around - and promptly broke down into braying laughter at the sight of Colossus steaming up to her, covered in six drooling destroyers via their mouths clamped onto various parts of her anatomy.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny," the British carrier grumbled. "Let's just get back to our cruisers and see if they can help pry these rugrats off of me."


	290. Rule 2962

**Rule 2962. We don't care how it happened, but whoever switched Mogami's shorts with Shimakaze's skirts is to return them immediately before Mikuma finds you.  
**  
"Oh no oh no oh no oh no..."

Mikuma paused in the act of putting on her shirt, and at least remembered to fully tug it down before giving her sister her full attention. "What's wrong, Moga... min..."

Her eyes widened at what Mogami was holding in her hands: not her usual brown shorts, but a blue... actually, was that a skirt or a belt? It was pleated like a skirt, and had a waistband - oh, wait, it was a skirt, she'd seen Shimakaze wearing them.

"Mogamin, why do you have one of Shimakaze's... skirts?" Mikuma asked.

"I don't know!" Mogami wailed. "When I went to get dressed, all my shorts were gone and the drawer was all full of these!"

Indeed, Mogami was still bottomless except for- Mikuma twitched, braying laughter almost slipping past her lips. Her big sister was wearing bear-print white panties, of all things.

 _'Must not laugh, must not laugh, must not laugh...'  
_  
Finally, she mastered the laughter, and said, "Well, I suppose we should go talk to Shimakaze-"

That suggestion was answered by Suzuya, still in her pajamas, opening the door, an annoyed look on her face. "Like, what did you guys _do?"_ she asked. "'Cause Shimakaze's here, she's really annoying, and she's not wearing any-"

Suzuya was shoved aside and replaced by Shimakaze, her skirt conspicuously absent. Wow, those were small panties. "Give me back my skirts you team-killing klutz!" she shouted.

"That's my line!" Mogami snapped. "You can take your stupid belts, I want my shorts back!"

"Only if you apologize first!"

"Are you even _listening_ to yourself right now?!"

Mikuma sighed as destroyer and cruiser descended into childish bickering. Suzuya was less restrained, throwing up her hands and letting out a growl of frustration. "Don't why I even bother!" she said as she stomped out of the room. "I'm going to go see if Kumano's, like, out of the shower yet. She'd better be..."

Once Suzuya was gone, Mikuma tuned out the argument and went to inspect the drawer where Mogami kept her shorts. Maybe there was a clue there. Nothing. The heavy cruiser grabbed one of the skirts and held it up to her waist, blushing. Good lord, how did Shimakaze avoid flashing her panties to oh right she didn't avoid it.

Putting the skirt back, Mikuma went back to the argument, which had descended into utter inanity.

"You!"

"No, you!"

"No, _you!"  
_  
Geez... Thankfully, Suzuya coming back, dragging a towel-clad Kumano behind her by the ear, saved Mikuma from a possible loss of brain functionality. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I've, like, got our culprit," Suzuya flatly said. "Totally a surprise, but, like, what can you do?"

"Unhand me, sister!" Kumano snapped, slapping at Suzuya's forearm. "I had nothing to do with this! And you could have at least let me dress!"

Mikuma opened her mouth to ask why Suzuya thought Kumano was the culprit-

"You know you've got, like, _all_ of Mogamin's shorts in your closet, right?"

And then closed it. Damn. That was pretty incriminating.

"A coincidence! Do you honestly think I'd be that messy with them?"

 _"Yes._ Who do you think, like, organizes your makeup and toiletries every morning after you use them?"

"Ugh, what a mess..." Mikuma groaned as Suzuya and Kumano added their voices to the din. "I should probably just go get an officer involved in this..."

That trailing off was due to the rigging-enhanced corgi, an American PT boat from the breed, standing in the window with a gleam in his eyes. A gleam that had Mikuma shuffling nervously away from the mutt. Oh, and she couldn't tell herself _why_ she knew the dog was male. It just was.

Tracing its eyes, she came to the uncomfortable realization that the corgi was staring at the other four shipgirls in the room, all of whom had blessedly fallen silent under his scrutiny. It should be noted, at this point, that Suzuya's pajamas basically consisted of a long t-shirt and whatever might be underneath.

"Ruff." (Groovy.)

And then, the dog jumped gracefully from the wall and over Kumano's head, and flicked its tail down just enough to undo her towel. There was a beat as the towel fluttered to the ground. And then, bedlam ensued. Shimakaze and Mogami each dove for Kumano's towel as the cruiser shrieked and tried to cover herself, smashing their heads together for their trouble. Suzuya was occupied trying to tug down her shirt. The dog preened.

And then Amagiri stormed in and grabbed the dog by the skull, a thunderous expression on her face.

"Gotcha, you stupid little bitch," she growled, the dog _somehow_ gaining a nervous, sweat-streaked expression. "Causing trouble again? I think we all know what that means."

PT-109 whined piteously, getting absolutely no sympathy as Amagiri took him away. The silence persisted for a little longer before Mogami, groaned, stood, and spoke up: "So, my shorts are in Kumano's closet?"

"Yeah, lemme show you," a red-faced Suzuya said.


	291. Chapter 291

**Rule 2966. Melee weapons are to be used as a last resort. You have cannons: USE THEM!  
**  
Growling, Poltava balled up the newspaper - really a gossip magazine - on shipgirl activities, and hurled it against the wall. Another day, another shipgirl killing something in melee. Whether it was Tenryuu or Kiso using their swords, Hood using Campbelltown, Samuel B. Roberts going full rip and tear, or Thunder Child sortieing at all, melee was used, and it was used to great success.

"Dammit!" she shouted. "Here I have this perfectly good cossack sword, and high command forbids me to use it! If those lightweights can be effective in melee, why can't _I?!"  
_  
The answer, of course, was no reason at all. And this time, unlike all the previous times, Poltava decided to do something about it: namely, damn the orders and take her sword with her anyway.

An opportunity came later that day. Poltava, along with the cruiser Voroshilov and Molotov, had been recently reassigned to service in the Aegean, what with the previous capital ship there, Yavuz, currently busy unfucking Turkey. That meant many, many more opportunities for combat over being stuck in the Black Sea, a Russian lake in strategic terms.

And that meant, in mid-afternoon, Poltava was skirting around one of the Aegean islands, her cruisers in front of her and the Scrap Iron Flotilla in front of them, when a quartet of Abyssal cruisers surged around the island, two lights and two heavies.

"Engaging!" Stuart and Voroshilov barked - and just before they were about to make their moves, Poltava came charging past. Well. "Charging". For a 35-knot destroyer and a 36-knot cruiser, Poltava's top speed of 23 knots didn't qualify as a "charge".

Of course, all that speed didn't really matter if they stood there gaping instead of using it. By the time they shook themselves into action, Poltava was already within 1000 yards of the enemy cruisers, sword flashing in the sunlight and her cackling laughter drifting over the water.

"We should-" Voroshilov began, but Stuart clasped her shoulder and stopped her.

"Let's let her learn her lesson," the Australian said. "Besides, she wouldn't appreciate us accidentally shooting her."

Gunfire erupted shortly thereafter, along with a lot of yelling and screaming. About fifteen minutes later, Poltava returned. She was visibly limping on the water, blood dripped into the sea from her body and her sword, and there were enough shells stuck all over her body to make her resemble nothing so much as a demented porcupine.

"I just don't know what went wrong..." she groaned.

~o~

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 **Topic: A New Thread**  
 **In: Boards ► Combat ► Weapons and Wielding**  
 **xXCossack4LifXx** (Original Poster) (Russian Navy) (Poltava (1911))  
Posted On Jul 25th 2017:  
Alright, I call shenanigans! How is it that people like Hood or Tenryuu or that tiny little frigate the Americans have can take on battleships in melee and win, but I engage four paltry cruisers and get my ass kicked?! It's not fair!

I mean, come on! I have a sword, too, I know how to use it, I train every day I can with it! I should be able to do this, too!

What am I doing wrong?

Edit: Also, what the hell kind of 8" guns are you Yanks using?! Those hurt!

 **(Showing page 1 of 1)  
►Slayer of Martians **(Verified Badass) (Royal Navy) (Thunder Child)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
I'd offer some advice, but I was designed from the start to engage in melee. And with torpedoes, but I was better off with melee, given the state of the weapons at the time.

My suggestion? You have guns. Big nice twelve-inchers with heavy shells. Use them.

 **►Death Rides A DE** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Taffy 3) (DE-413)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
Well, as a wise man once said: you're either perfect, or not me.

Git gud, scrub.

 **►6TheDragon6BladePrincess6** (JMSDF) (Chuuni Boat) (天龍)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
Why are you using a sword when you have some perfectly good 12" guns on you? I'm outgunned by destroyers, Tatsuta and I have to be melee beasts if we want to be of any damn use in a fight!

Edit: Dammit, you stupid gaijin, it's seppuku, not sudoku!

 **►Mighty Hood** (Royal Navy) (Fun & Engaging) (Pennant 51)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
Poltava, you have shamed the memories of your ancestors. You must commit sudoku in repentance.

 **►Blazing_Phoenix** (USN) (Post-War Veteran) (Scientist Boat) (CL-46)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
Hmm. You know, I had this idea for an exploding spear that weighs about a ton, but I don't think I should be encouraging this kind of irresponsibility.

 **►xXCossack4LifXx** (Original Poster) (Russian Navy) (Poltava (1911))  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
YOU'RE THE LAST PERSON I WANT TO HEAR THAT FROM!

 **►BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Replied On Jul 25th 2017:  
Well, this thread was never going to end well, but I'm a little disappointed it degenerated this fast.

Thread locked.

 **End of Page. 1**


	292. Rule 2968

**Rule 2968: You may not use each other's smoke stacks/exhaust ports/whatever you call them to cook things.  
**  
"I'm huuuungry..."

"We know, De Haven."

"My stomach's sticking to my spiiiiine..."

"We _know_ , De Haven."

"Hey, does anyone-"

"God, _shut up_ , De Haven!" Strong snapped, whirling around to glare at the destroyer behind her. "Yes, you're hungry, we get it, we all are! No, we don't have any food! So just. Shut. Up!"

"Touchy..." De Haven muttered, though notably, that was the only thing she said.

As the two fell silent, Nicholas, Chevalier, and Taylor all let out sighs of relief. Thank goodness Strong had said that so they didn't have to, because she was right. They were _all_ starving. Stupid panicky Mexican officials... making them trek this far south... There weren't even any Abyssals!

"Maybe we should've just annexed the whole damn country in 1848..." Chevalier grumbled, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Then maybe, if we have to schlep down here, it's to actually _fight something._ "

Taylor and Nicholas both flinched, and then slowly turned around to give Chevalier sidelong stares.

"Joke!" the destroyer protested. "That was a joke! I'm not allowed to joke?!"

"No," the two chorused.

Blessed silence fell on the flotilla, a silence that lasted for actual _minutes._ And then...

"I'm huuuuungry..."

"De Haven, I swear to Arleigh Burke himself!"

~o~

Thankfully, that particular sortie had ended in them sampling authentic - and delicious - Mexican food to replenish their stores, though poor De Haven had ordered something just a _little_ too spicy for her taste buds.

("AAAAAAAAARGH! OH GOD WATER ONLY MAKES IT WORSE!")

Okay, maybe a lot too spicy for her taste buds.

Anyway, after that, they were back on regular escort duty, so they weren't far from an oiler for a good month. Then the Mexican government started making panicky horse noises again.

"Seriously?" Taylor groaned as the flotilla steamed through Mexican waters. "We gotta do _this_ again?"

"Could be worse," Strong pointed out. "De Haven could be whining again."

"Not this time!" De Haven declared from the rear. "This time, I've planned ahead! Observe!"

The other destroyers all watched in reluctant fascination as De Haven reached into her hold and pulled out a... piece of raw beef? Now they were watching in confusion. De Haven grinned, and steamed up to Chevalier, who was ahead of her in their line, and stuck the meat over her sister's funnel.

Nicholas immediately spotted the problem with this. "Uh, De Haven-"

"I know! Brilliant, right?" she preened, flipping the chunk of beef. "It won't keep us completely fed, but it'll at least take the edge off." Inspecting the beef, she pulled it off. "Bon apetit!"

De Haven gobbled up the piece in one bite - and then froze, her face twisting in disgust.

"Tastes like burnt oil, doesn't it?" Nicholas said.

De Haven spat out the beef, neatly answering that question. "Blargh! Back to the drawing board, I guess," she sighed.


	293. Rule 2972

**Rule 2972: Do not call HMS Argus Granny or remind her that she's a draftee. She doesn't like the disrespect at all.  
**  
"Hey, uh, Vampire?"

Vampire looked up from her phone and craned her neck towards Voyager. "Yeah?"

"What stage of age grief is Argus in?"

Uncertainly, "I think it was stage 1: Denial. Not that I can blame her; she's younger than most of the battleships." A pause. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you might want to adjust her up to stage 2."

Now curious, Vampire stood and looked over Voyager's shoulder at the video her fellow destroyer was watching. On it, Argus had wrapped her arms and legs around Triumph's neck and waist, respectively, and was clearly trying to choke out the light carrier, despite Triumph doing just about everything up to falling onto her back to get Argus off.

"Yup, definitely at the anger stage," Vampire commented. "So, what, exactly, did Triumph say to set her off?"

"Called her 'granny'," Voyager said, which drew a wince from the destroyer behind her. "Also, she called Argus a draftee, and implied that she wasn't as good a fighter because of that."

"Oh, yeah, that'd definitely make her jump up a stage," Vampire muttered. She then grinned as Argus slipped her legs off of Triumph and seamlessly transitioned into a suplex that shattered concrete. "Heh. I doubt anyone else will call her either after this."

~o~

Triumph lay sprawled on a couch in one of Portsmouth's many lounges, a bag of ice pressed to her aching head. Stupid old carrier. Okay, so her comments had been insensitive, and the "draftee" line had definitely been out of line, as Olympic had been very eager to explain. But leaving without even giving her a chance to apologize?! Come on, you'd think that at her age she'd be a little less _petty.  
_  
"You're thinking about Argus again," Theseus cut in, sidelong eyeing her sister. Triumph flinched, unable to deny it. "I hope it's only just about apologizing."

"Of course it's about apologizing!" Triumph protested, making to stand, only to wince and flop back on the couch. "Ow. Exuberance hurts, got it."

Silence fell for quite a while, the only sound Theseus turning the pages of her book. Then the door slammed open, and Argus stalked in, tossing something at Triumph's feet. Headache or no, the light carrier recoiled when it was revealed to be the head of a Wo-class carrier, bleeding onto the couch.

"That good enough for you, Miss 'purpose built'?" Argus damn near snarled.

"Yeah, great, we're good!"

Snorting like an angry ox, Argus stalked off, leaving Triumph to heave a sigh of relief. Triumph, meanwhile, lowered her book again.

"That didn't sound like an apology."

"Oh, shut up," Triumph snapped. "We're square. You heard her!" Again, she winced, and shifted her icepack. "Ow."


	294. Rule 2973

**Rule 2973. Just because Ooyodo doesn't sortie as much as others does not mean she can't fight.  
**  
Once again, Yokosuka was under attack. But this time, in addition to the usual line Abyssals, some enterprising blackhearts had gotten the idea to rip Midway Princess off her island, attached to a hunk of coral so that some spare Wo-class could carry her into battle.

And for all that it was ridiculous, it was also _working.  
_  
"Gah!" Kiso yelped as shells rained on where she'd been a half-second prior. "Fuck, this is not going well! Now, where are my rugrats?" Glancing around, she realized that her destroyers were... elsewhere. Groaning, she brought her hand to her face. "Not again... Tenryuu's going to be so smug."

As there hadn't been any shells landing near her for the past ten seconds, Kiso took the opportunity to look around and see where she was. Near headquarters, as it turned out, the building visibly damaged. And- the cruiser's eyes widened. There, in the windows, she could see Ooyodo. Swearing under her breath, she leaped over the rubble around her and sprinted for the building and then making her way to the Admiral's office.

"Ooyodo!" she declared, when she slid in front of the door to that outer office. "What are you doing?!"

Ooyodo, hunched over at her computer, glanced up but kept working. "Wiping the hard drive!" she snapped. "I don't want the Abyssals getting any intelligence if they happen to have any tech-savvy!"

"Yeah, well, we gotta go!" Kiso replied. "There's Abyssals all over the harbor and-"

Something hit her back, the force pitching her forward and the sharp pain leaving her unable to move. By chance, she was pitched onto her back, giving her a good view of two Ha-class destroyers aiming their guns at her.

 _'Damn. Didn't think_ this _was how I was gonna go a second time.'  
_  
But a return to the cold depths was not in the cards, not today. From her prone position, Kiso was treated to the sight of Ooyodo jumping and stabbing one of the destroyers in the hand with- was that a letter opener?! The other destroyer barely had time to hiss before Ooyodo manifested her rigging, parked a triple 6.1" turret under the thing, and fired, turning it into so much metal-infused meat.

"Uh..." Kiso said, intelligently.

"I _did_ go through combat training, same as all of you," Ooyodo deadpanned. "What, did you think I was just a paper-pusher with no combat ability?"

"Well, yeah," Kiso shamelessly admitted.

"See if I save you again..." Ooyodo muttered, idly shooting another Ha-class that had been trying to sneak up on her. "Now come on, if you're able to mouth off like that you can stand and fight."

Grimacing, Kiso tried to stand, and found that she could, though it sent twinges of pain through her back.

"Turn around."

She did so.

"Hmm... looks like it glanced off your armor," Ooyodo said. "Lucky, now let's- hurk!"

Kiso spun around, finding a Chi-class torpedo cruiser standing behind Ooyodo, and a blade sticking out of the shipgirl's chest, her eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock. The Abyssal then contemptuously tossed Ooyodo's bleeding body to the floor.

[Next.]

If the Abyssal was expecting despair or blinding rage, it was disappointed in its last seconds of life. With cold, calm motions, Kiso grabbed the hilt of her sword, drew it at blinding speed, and then slowly re-sheathed it - whereupon the Abyssal fell into chunks. Exhaling, Kiso glanced over at Ooyodo, kneeling down and checking her pulse. Strong. And looking closer, her fairies were already sealing the wound.

"Same training as us, huh?" she scoffed. "Tch. All that training, and you get ganked by some rando torpedo cruiser. What good did it do you?"

Reaching down, Kiso hefted up Ooyodo - and turned around to see a Ha-class right in her face.

"Yow!"

BLAM!

Blinking, Kiso looked away from the crumpling destroyer and to Ooyodo. One of her gun barrels was smoking, but she was still completely out of it.

"Okay, so the training did _some_ good," Kiso admitted.

"Too slow..." Ooyodo slurred. "Sorry, 'miral... tummy hurts..."

~o~

A couple weeks later, Kiso entered the rebuilt outer office to see Ooyodo holding Tama in a joint lock.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, Tama!" the secretary ship snarled. "No leaving 'presents' for Admiral Goto!"

"NYAAAAAAAAA!" Tama wailed.

"Told you you shouldn't have messed with 'Yodo..." Kiso muttered to herself.


	295. Rule 2974

**Rule 2974. Yes, we know that the docks can heal any injury but that doesn't you the right to do "The Best Black Knight Cosplay Ever".  
**  
Battleship HMS Queen Elizabeth looked over the Portsmouth naval base with happy eyes. "Ah, it's good to be back in Britain!" she declared.

"We'll have to thank Nelson and Rodney for covering for us while we were gone," Warspite reminded them.

"And Admiral Graham for arranging all this!" Valiant added.

Grabbing their luggage, the battleships made their way inside, pausing only to briefly stare at Vanguard and Revenge as they walked past, hands clasped together and the latter speaking actual Queen's English.

"Wow, things sure have changed while we were in Egypt," Queen Elizabeth remarked.

"Yeah..." Valiant agreed, before grinning. "But we can worry about that later! We've got our costumes, we know where the convention center is, let's get dressed and go!"

"Aye!" the other two battleships agreed. The trio scattered, both to set down their luggage and change. Valiant and Queen Elizabeth emerged about an hour later, meeting up in the same hall they had split up in. Both now wore chain mail armor, long tabards set over the armor and helmets atop their heads. Valiant's tabard was divided into blue and white sections, festooned with a tree, and her helmet resembled nothing more than a riveted fire can with a hinged faceplate. Queen Elizabeth, meanwhile, wore white with gold trim and a large sun in the center, her helmet a crown surrounding a metal cap, with additional chain mail hanging down to cover her neck. And both now sported facial hair, Valiant a dark mustache and Queen Elizabeth a full beard in the same blonde color as her hair.

"Looking good, your majesty," Valiant smirked.

"As are you, sister," Queen Elizabeth replied. "Do you know who Warspite shall be dressing as? She never mentioned it in my company."

Valiant grimaced. "Yeah, I asked before we left. She just got this look in her eyes and started giggling. It was kinda creepy."

A shrug. "Well, we'll just have to wait and see, then."

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Just past the half-hour mark, Valiant stood up from where she was leaning against the wall, intent on finding Warspite. Naturally, that was when she wheeled out, revealing her costume.

Contrary to rumor, Warspite's rigging was _not_ a wheelchair, and she could walk perfectly fine on her own, thank you very much. But it _could_ be easily modified as a wheelchair. And considering her costume, she needed it.

Crusader helm. The usual chain mail. Black tabard with a red boar. And, of course, no limbs. At all.

"So? What do you think?" Warspite asked cheerfully.

Queen Elizabeth gaped. Valiant facepalmed.

"What?! Come on, you know the baths can fix this!"

There was a faint noise in the distance, that sounded suspiciously like a shouted "I refuse!" Despite the face-covering helmet and lack of limbs, Warspite visibly became nervous at this.

"Aheheheh..."

"Let's just go and hope the press doesn't get wind of this..." Valiant sighed.

~o~

"You know," Queen Elizabeth remarked over the sound of a head hitting a table. "I do not believe that comment of yours was so much tempting fate as lying seductively on a satin lounge in a transparent slip covered in bags making cooing noises at fate."

Valiant didn't pause in thunking her head against the table, though she did raise the bird towards her sister.

The reason for this? Admiral Graham, a stormy expression on his face, flipping through just about every gossip site on the web, each of them prominently featuring the trio making their rounds through the convention they'd just gotten back from. And lest anyone have any doubts about the identities of the quadruple amputee Black Knight cosplayer, each site had at least a few shots of Warspite eating lunch.

"Can I ask what on _earth_ possessed you three to do this?" Graham asked. "I'd even settle for finding out why you thought this was a good idea, Warspite."

"I wanted to be authentic!" was the answer. "And like I told Valiant and Elizabeth, I can just get my limbs reattached in the docks."

 _"Noooooooooope"  
_  
Everyone blinked, Warspite turning pale.

"Moving on," Graham muttered. "That is... an answer." He turned to the other two battleships. "And you didn't stop her because...?"

"I could give many reasons, Admiral," Queen Elizabeth replied, as Valiant was still too busy abusing her skull. "But frankly, we barely get out into Alexandria when we're there. We've forgotten, somewhat, how powerful cell phones and social media are."

Graham held his stare for a moment longer before sighing and leaning back. "Well, we'll call it an unfortunate lapse in judgement and be done with it. As for Warspite..." A vicious smile spread over his face. "Well, this seems like a job for Resource. Have fun convincing her to put your limbs back on."

"Well, I _am_ needed back in the Mediterranean..."

Graham's smile shifted, becoming one that would have sent most Gurkhas running screaming for the hills. Why became apparent shortly afterward, the door opening to allow Barham and Malaya in. But not the Barham and Malaya that had fought in the war.

"Gaze upon the new and improved Barham!" that battleship crowed.

"I look forward to fighting with you again, Elizabeth, Valiant," Malaya said.

Valiant lifted her head, and instead of driving it into the table again, waved a hand in front of Warspite's face. Nothing. "Nice. I think you broke her."

 **AN: A "bag" is a £1000 note, in case you were wondering.**


	296. Rule 2976

**Rule 2976. When Nenohi, asks you what day it is, the correct answer is not "Independence Day", we don't care how effective it is in shutting her up.  
**  
"Hey, I wonder what day it is?"

Nenohi's division-mates, Hatsuharu, Wakaba, and Hatsushimo, all flinched in anticipation. Considering Hatsuharu's usual controlled, regal bearing and Wakaba's general stoicness, this was quite an accomplishment. And Hatsushimo, of course, was rather more... vocal in her disapproval.

"Don't you dare. Don't you fucking-!"

"It's New Year's Day!" (TN: Nenohi means New Year's Day.)

Hatsushimo let out a wordless groan of frustration, stalked over to the nearest wall, and began to bash her head against it, which prompted Nenohi to blink in confusion.

"What's that about?"

"You use that line quite a lot, Nenohi," Hatsuhara answered, trying to find a way to be polite. "And it's, ah..."

"It's gotten old," Wakaba bluntly cut in.

A blink. Two. "I don't understand."

Both destroyers silently came to the conclusion that trying to explain further was likely pointless. "Let us just... go eat," Hatsuharu managed, Wakaba grabbing Hatsushimo as they passed.

Arriving in the mess, Nenohi quickly got caught up in deciding between two separate entrees, leaving her three sisters to sit down by themselves and start talking.

"Okay, we're all in agreement that Nenohi needs to _stop_ with that stupid pun?" Hatsushimo opened.

Wakaba nodded, as did Hatsuharu. "Even just a reduction in occurrence would be quite welcome," the latter added. "But how would we achieve such a goal?"

Shouting erupted from the chow line, and the trio looked up. Nenohi had apparently tried her usual schtick with Ikazuchi, who apparently was as sick of the joke as they were, given that she was currently being held back by Inazuma.

"Well, if everyone else is that sick of it, too, we could probably just ask someone," Hatsushimo suggested.

"Tenryuu is an option..." Hatsuharu mused. "In fact, I believe most of the light cruisers would be able to help us."

"Or, you could ask me."

Blinking, the trio turned away from each other and towards the newcomer who had just spoke, which turned out to be Enterprise. One of Hatsuharu's bushy eyebrows rose.

"Explain."

~o~

Nenohi hummed a little tune as she skipped down the hall. Hatsuharu, Hatsushimo, and Wakaba had all vanished after lunch, which was fine. They had other things to do, and she always liked the opportunity to get out of their little circle. There were only so many times you could tell the same joke to the same people before it got stale.

Oh, and opportunity! There, just down the hall, was Enterprise, a bald eagle on her shoulder. Grinning, Nenohi picked up speed, as much for the eagle as the opportunity to use her joke. As she slowed down to keep pace with the carrier, Enterprise turned to look at her.

"Hey, E, you wouldn't happen to know what day it is, would you?" Nenohi asked, grinning. Now, a short pause for effect-

"Oh, yeah, I totally know what day it is."

Wait, what.

To Nenohi's befuddled surprise, Enterprise grinned and slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, a pipe popping into her mouth. Somehow.

"It's Independence Day!" the carrier declared. The eagle joined in, enthusiastically... cawing. It was rather gull-like, though a lot higher than the usual seagull noise.

Honestly, it was fifty-fifty whether Enterprise's answer or the blatant absence of a red-tailed hawk screech from her bald eagle that sent Nenohi's mind spiraling into a 404 error. Probably both. So when Enterprise, after waiting for a more... operatic reaction, reached out and waved a hand in front of the destroyer's face, she got no response.

"Shit, I think I broke her," the carrier muttered.


	297. Rule 2979

**Rule 2979. Enough with "the cake is a lie" pranks. The culinary specialists look like they're about to replicate the Washburn "A" Mill explosion.  
**  
"You know, this isn't what 'the cake is a lie' actually means," Harder commented.

Isokaze paused in her stirring, looking up at the currently-male submarine. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, the original use was during the video game Portal, where the evil robot lady kept promising cake at the end of the lethal obstacle course your character had to cross. But there was no cake. So 'the cake is a lie' is mostly used to refer to working for a reward that doesn't exist." The submarine glanced over at the concoction Isokaze was still stirring, and shrugged. "Eh. It'll do."

 _'And in three... two... one...'  
_  
"Hey, wait a minute!" Isokaze exclaimed. "Why does that meme apply at all?! My cake isn't a lie!"

One eyebrow, still delicate even with testosterone replacing estrogen, rose up. "Uh-huh..." Harder drawled. "I'm pretty sure cake batter isn't supposed to be pitch black and bubbling, even if it is chocolate."

Isokaze flushed at that, and mumbled something. "What was that?" Harder asked.

"I-It's supposed to be vanilla..." muttered the destroyer, embarrassed.

Silence. There was nothing to say to that.

"Just... Just bake it, okay?"

~o~

"And the winner is... Shirayuki!"

The entire Fubuki class cheered for their sister, who heaved a sigh of relief and slumped back in her seat, while her opponent slumped forward in defeat. Ookaze had been a formidable opponent through sheer button-mashing speed, but her greater knowledge of combos and choice of a long-range hit-and-run character had taken her through the series, though it had gone to seven games.

"And now..." the mysterious masked announcer stated. "Our prize!" A wave of his hand, and an attendant wheeled in a cart holding the cake. The well-decorated, scrumptious-looking cake. As a cook herself, Shirayuki knew what a good cake looked like, and this looked the part. Drool began to collect in her mouth as she stood and made her way up to the stage where the assistant from before was cutting a piece.

Shirayuki happily took the piece and the plastic fork proffered, speared a chunk, and was about to bit down when she realized that the attendant looked familiar. And the announcer, too, though it was a much less pressing familiarity. She mentally shrugged. Cake! _Now_ she bit down.

Her tongue was under siege. Invaders from another realm covered the land, despoiling it in a lust for greed, burning and looting and raping all in their path. The land screamed, but no one listened. Blood soaked the-

Reflexes kicked in, and Shirayuki spat out the ca- no. Not cake. This couldn't be cake. It just _couldn't!  
_  
"The cake is a lie!" she screamed, though it came out garbled due to her fingers trying to scrape off the foul concoction from her tongue. Then she recognized the assistant. "Isokaze, you fiend!"

Isokaze flinched, and the announcer immediately tried to flee. Unfortunately, he only made it two steps before Ookaze blurred in front of him and buried her knee in his groin, dropping him to the ground. All through the crowd of destroyers that had been watching, angry shouts and hushed murmurs passed through.

But that was nothing compared to the reactions of Mamiya and Irako, who had decided to watch for reasons they hadn't shared. Steam leaked from their ears, their faces were bright red verging into purple, and their trembling had dislodged a solid halo of flour dust.

Surprisingly, it was Yamakaze who connected the dots first.

"Hit the deck!"

*KA-BOOM!*

~o~

"They _what,"_ Admiral Goto bit out.

Fubuki grimaced and shifted the ice pack she was holding to her head. "They exploded. Organic dust, y'know?"

A groan. "Right... And the cause?"

"Another of Harder's pranks. Though how he ended up here again, I don't know. I remember Admiral Holloway promising to work him into the ground."

"Well, we knew that wouldn't hold forever." Leaning back in his chair, Goto turned this new incident over. "Have Akashi look Irako and Mamiya over, see how they produced the flour. And I think it's time for another entry on The List."

*KRAK-A-THOOM!*

"And get the Yuubaris on that, would you?"

"Yes, admiral."


	298. Rule 2980

**Rule 2980. To the idiot who threw Hyuuga's flight deck at the Abyssals, you're paying for the repairs.  
**  
Finally, after months of planning and negotiation and whack-a-mole and, to the consternation of the diplomats and military officers involved, hot and heavy lovemaking, the way was clear to end the threat of the Midway Princess once and for all. Much of the time, apparently, had been devoted to the now-formally-allied Central Princess stockpiling supplies and building amenities for the attacking fleet, which meant the entire weight of the Pacific's shipgirl fleets could descend on the hapless Installation.

*SKRANG!*

Then again, Hyuuga mused to herself as she felt a heavy shell try to dig into her armor, hapless or not, no Installation was ever truly _helpless._ Despite a battering from the carriers that included Midway and Coral Sea plastering her with 2000-lb bombs, despite her entire fleet being sunk, she still necessitated an extended drive-by from the battleships. Hence why Hyuuga's fairies were busy making sure the wrecked shell in her side was safe.

Firing back with her 14" guns - and smirking at the howl of pain that produced - Hyuuga took a moment to curse the fact that she was still in battlecarrier rigging; the operation had dropped on too short notice for her to get swapped out for her usual twelve guns.

Ah well. Nothing for it. She fired again, getting more hits, and then had to suddenly slam on the brakes when the ship in front of her, USS California, suddenly swung out of formation. If it weren't for a last-second, turboelectric-enable swerve on the American's part, that stunt would have ended in a nasty collision.

Surprised and disoriented and also trying to make sure she didn't cause a complete traffic jam behind her, Hyuuga didn't react as California steamed by her and then steamed away. Only once everything was sorted out did she notice that a. her flight deck had been ripped out of its foundation and b. California was steaming towards the Midway Princess with it.

Gaping, Hyuuga put on some steam and surged forward to grab Tennessee by the arm. "What in the seventy seven hells is your sister doing?!" she demanded.

Tennessee, frowning, wrenched her arm out of Hyuuga's grip and looked for her sister. The moment she found her was fairly obvious; there really wasn't any other reason for her jaw to drop like that.

"Oh no. I thought she was just joking!"

"About _what?"_ Hyuuga pressed.

Midway Princess picked this moment to remind the two that there was still a battle going on in the form of several shells screaming in. The two battleships separated, wincing as more shells slammed into their armor, and returned fire, though the fire slackened off almost immediately. From the shell splashes around California, that was likely because the Installation had spotted the crazy battleship.

Of course, California wasn't so crazy as to charge an Installation without the element of surprise, so she came to a halt and-

Hyuuga blinked. Did she just- yes. Yes, California had just thrown her flight deck like it was a frisbee, or-

"Oh. She's trying to be Captain America, isn't she," Hyuuga deadpanned.

Tennessee's only reply was a groan of frustration.

Back on the water, the flight deck soared in - and then did a credible impression of a lamed duck into the water. The shells that buried California under a deluge of seawater were just salt in the wound.

Of course, the gathered battleships made good use of the distraction. Over eighty heavy shells screamed in and buried the Installation, and it finally keeled over and slipped under the water, screaming venom at them the entire time. While the rest of the battleline cheered and Yamashiro went to retrieve California, Hyuuga turned to Tennessee again, a flat look on her face.

"When she wakes up, tell her she's paying for a new flight deck. Or my refit back to full battleship, either or."

An affirmative groan.

"Great."


	299. Rule 2982

**Rule 2982. Be more careful with your divebombing. Fortunately your plane only hit a british carrier(Steel Decked) Anyone else would have been in drydock, but with them fairies with brooms came out.  
**  
Wasp eyed the skies, her Hellcats flying CAP alongside Ranger's birds and Aquila's Reggiane fighters. A major fleet action had spontaneously developed to the south of Crete, which meant that their scratch carrier task group was aiming to catch the Abyssal force in a pincer between them, the two British carriers operating out of Alexandria, the once scattered but now concentrated battleships, and the American task group now operating out of Toulon, though the greater distance meant that last force was lagging behind.

Speak of the devil... Wasp turned her attention back to the sea and her own strike package. There was no need to watch the skies, not with the Big Blue Blanket sweeping overhead.

"You Americans make me so jealous sometimes..." Aquila sighed.

"Yeah, well-"

"Look alive, everyone, our planes are going in," Ranger cut in.

Their target was the Abyssal carriers, sinking them before Ticonderoga and company could nail the heavy surface combatants right as the Italian and British battleships engaged. The plan worked like a charm, as the Abyssals didn't seem to have any of their thrice-damned missile cruisers handy. Her and Ranger's dive bombers nosed over, joined shortly by bomb-armed versions of Aquila's fighters in a shallower dive, while Wasp's Avengers attacked the opposite side of the British Barracudas. Desultory anti-aircraft fire and frantic runs by the enemy CAP downed some of the bombers, but it didn't prevent most of the four Wos from being nailed by several weapons apiece to be knocked out of action.

With that, their air strikes packed up and left, a job well done. But before they were even a quarter of the way back home, all three heard something from one of their cruiser escorts that they _never_ wanted to hear.

"That's odd."

Slowly, Ranger, Wasp, and Aquila turned to Trieste, who had said that. _"What's_ odd?" Ranger asked.

"I've got a floatplane watching the battle, and the rest of the Americans just showed up," the cruiser answered. "But I'm only seeing torpedo bombers and fighters. Granted, the Corsairs probably don't need the help, but still."

Okay, so that wasn't panic-worthy. Good to know.

"Eh, they probably got lost again," Wasp said dismissively. "Happens way more often than you'd think."

"And on that note," Ranger added. "Command's telling us to head for Alexandria for now. Didn't say why, though."

Wasp and Aquila grinned, sharing a look.

"Beaches!"

"Spas!"

"Hunky Egyptian men!"

"Let's go!"

As the two carriers sped off, Ranger shook her head, an indulgent smile tugging at her lips. "Well, can't argue with that."

~o~

Wasp and Aquila had run out of things to praise Alexandria for by the time their task group nosed into the base. As such, the sight of Illustrious and Formidable with fairies sweeping their flight decks and annoyed expressions on their faces caught their eye immediately.

"Who pissed in your tea?" Aquila asked as soon as they were within speaking range. "You guys weren't attacked, I'm pretty sure."

"Ask your American friend," Formidable flatly snarled, shooting a glare Wasp's way.

Wasp, for her part, glared back with as much righteous indignation as she could muster. "If you're implying blue-on-blue, your guys' record isn't exactly spotless on that front, either," she bit out. "Just ask Sheffield. Or Glasgow, once she gets out of the docks."

The British carriers both winced, their expressions softening. "Sorry," Illustrious said. "I mean, we didn't even get damaged. It's just _annoying_ , is what it is. We're lucky those Helldivers were loaded light for maximum range."

Wait a minute.

"Ranger and I run Dauntlesses, not Helldivers," Wasp pointed out. "And our birds were lugging thousand-pounders. You don't think..."

"Ticonderoga is in charge of that bunch," Ranger answered, cracking her knuckles. "She and I are going to have _words_ the next time we meet..."

That ominous declaration was allowed to hang in the air for a good bit. Then...

"Spa?" Formidable offered.

The change was immediate. "Spa!" both American carriers childishly agreed.


	300. Rule 2988

**Rule 2988. Please all kanmusu, don't show any "adult content" to Haruna, last time when she saw her Kongou-nee-sama on erotic calendar, it doesn't end well for her. Haruna is still clean from negative impact of "adult content".**

Yawning after a long day at work, Admiral Goto collected all the mail and packages that the mail workers had, once again, decided to just dump in front of his door. Most of it was junk, a few of it was actually important, and the packages, of course, were all important. One held a new book, another a new blender to replace the one that had started sounding like Skrillex (Kongo never had explained that one, and he knew enough not to ask), but the giant padded envelope was a surprise. He didn't remember ordering anything that needed one of _those._

Curious, he tore open the packaging and pulled out a calender. His eyes immediately widened. There, on the cover, was Kongo, her hair let down, a coy smile on her face, and her body leaning against the wall to perfectly show off the white crop top and very small pair of cutoff jean shorts she was wearing. Very, very small. Like, seriously, they were smaller than most of her _underwear_. Not that she was wearing any; the side-ties on the shorts and the tightness of the crop top made that very, very clear.

The calendar crinkled as he flipped through the pages. It was all variations on the same theme. Swimwear that barely qualified as clothing. Lingerie of all kinds. A school uniform that looked like a fetish version of the one _his own high school_ had mandated.

Oh, Aoba was dead. So very dead.

"Good evening, teitoku!"

Some of Goto's rage bled away as his lover pressed herself against his back. Then it came roaring back as he considered _how_ Aoba had to have gotten these pictures. The small, rational side of him that wondered why Kongo had never shown him some of these outfits was ambushed and beaten to a bloody pulp.

"Kongo, what do you think? Only mostly dead, or all the way dead?" he said with considerable glee.

Kongo did not answer that question. Unseen to her admiral, the battleship blinked in confusion, leaned over his shoulder to look at the calendar, and then began to giggle.

"Oh, silly teitoku! _I'm_ the one who approached Aoba about that calendar, it was a gift! For you!"

Now it was Goto's turn to blink. "Really?"

An eager nod. "Yup!" The smile on her face remained, but the rest of Kongo's expression turned... cold. "And I told her that if she ever shares this with anyone else, no one will even know she's gone."

Goto considered that. "What was the response?"

"Oh, she fainted!"

Eh, could be worse. "I'm assuming you still have those shorts...?" Goto ventured.

~o~

Three days later was the Kongo sisters' weekly teatime. Much chatting and gossip ensued, in particular some teasing of Kirishima about a guy she apparently fancied. The battleship, of course, vehemently denied any such thing.

Still, even Hiei and Kongo could run out of teasing material, and in the silence that followed the lack of Haruna's participation became startlingly clear. In fact, she was blushing furiously and staring at something behind Hiei. Her sisters turned around, and-

*plip*

Hiei hastily clamped her hands over her nose, though not before another drop of blood slipped out. Kirishima blushed, too, as Kongo retrieved a box of tissues.

"Ah, yes," the glasses-clad battleship remarked with impressive calm. "For Admiral Goto, I presume?"

"W-Why aren't you wearing any clothes, onee-sama?" Haruna asked, a bit of a quiver in her voice.

Kongo flinched. So did Hiei. Kirishima flashed them both a look that _screamed_ "You're on your own."

"W-Well, ah-"

"Sis, I love, you, but I swear to the Random Number God, if you launch into your 'Maiden's Springtime of Youth' speech..." Hiei trailed off, letting the threat hang.

Gulping, Kongo changed tacks. There had to be a way to explain this without crushing Haruna's fragile innocence. She glanced at the calendar again. Those damn shorts again. Oh! The heat! Yeah, that might-!

*WHUMP!*

Aaaaand now she'd just fainted. Great. Oh, and steam was coming from her head.

"Maybe she won't remember anything whens he wakes up?" Hiei offered.

"We should be so lucky," Kirishima muttered. "I hope you have a plan."

"Heat?"

Kirishima grimaced. "That'd explain why you're wearing it, but it wouldn't explain the calendar. It should do, though; Haruna's not one to seek out that sort of information. More importantly..." The battleship grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Do we need to go pound Aoba until she can't walk straight?"

"Phrasing!" Hiei coughed. Kirishima blushed again.

"And to answer your question, no, this was done entirely above-board," added Kongo.


	301. Rule 2995

**Rule 2995. Overly long and complicated anime transformations are banned.**

Nagato flew backward, bounced over the waves, and used that to flip back onto her feet and skid to a halt. Slowly, still crouched, she reached up and wiped a thin line of blood from her lip, then shot a cocky smirk at the Abyssal that had done it.

Though in fact, it wasn't an Abyssal at all. It was another of the Director's artificial humans, this one a skinny, bowl-cut young man. In green spandex. Whatever. Nagato was far more interested in how he'd hit her so hard.

"You drew blood," the battleship said. "Not bad."

[Yosh! Thank you, Nagato-san!] Spandex man pumped his fist. [I shall defeat you! And if I do not, and somehow survive, I shall circumnavigate the globe ten times in a straight line! On my hands!]

Nagato laughed. Because really, that was the only rational reaction to such a declaration. "I like your spirit! And I would be a poor opponent if I didn't respond by showing you my true power!"

With that, Nagato threw her head back, tensed her muscles, and _screamed._ "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"

And screamed.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

And... well, take a wild guess.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Lightning flashed. The very Earth shook. All across the world, shipgirls and Abyssals alike perked up and found their gazes drawn to the massive power being formed.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

And all the while, spandex man waited patiently.

"-AAAAAAAAH!"

And finally, it came to an end, Nagato floating down to hover above the water in the full glory of her Super Nagamon 3 form.

"Sorry that took so long," she said, voice hoarse. "I'm a little rusty with that form."

[Yosh! No problem!] spandex man replied, shooting her a thumbs up. [Now, let's-!]

That was as far as he got before Nagato zipped in and knocked him out with one blow. "Well, that was anticlimactic," she remarked as she turned back to normal. "Oh well."

~o~

Rock music blared from one of the squares in Yokosuka. Pounding drums, roaring guitar, deep bass- all that was missing were the vocals. In this case, though, Destroyer Desu! (name subject to change) weren't aiming for a full song with vocals and all that. No, they had a different intention. Maikaze, who normally handled said vocals, was out in front, dancing with a level of frenzied desperation she usually didn't show.

Oh, and she was connected to the instruments by glowing lines. Lines that were growing thicker and more glow-y by the second.

Within seconds the lines were near white and completely opaque, which is when the glow spread over Maikaze. Arms splaying out, she floated in the air, and then with one last, blinding flash of light, the glow vanished, letting the destroyer touch down.

Her usual outfit was gone, replaced by an odd new costume. A leotard in yellow and green, sheer around her midriff and right above her breasts, was framed by heavy armored gauntlets and boots. A pair of what appeared to be armored, high-tech headphones completed the look.

"Well," she said, looking over the gauntlets. "Honestly, I'm amazed that actually worked. But I don't think it's very practical. I'd have to stop my dancing for _way_ too long."

"Wouldn't that depend on how long that lasts?" Nowaki pointed out. "If it lasts long enough, it's probably useful in case we're attacked again."

Maikaze nodded. "Yeah, good point." Her foot began to tap on the concrete to an unseen beat. "I can hear a song; it wants me to dance."

"Then let's give it a test-run, shall we?" Arashi said.

In response, Maikaze spun, manifesting a pair of kamas and an eager smile on her face. "Yeah, we can do it on that heavy cruiser that thinks it's hidden in the Bay."


	302. Rule 3000

**Rule 3000. Never mess with Juneau's copy of the movie "The Fighting Sullivans". Neither her nor The Sullivans will take kindly to that.  
**  
Sipping her coffee, Juneau sat down at the table she shared with her batch 1 Atlanta sisters. As she did, her knee happened to jostle the table, but instead of wobbling as it usually did, it stayed firm.

"Huh. You fixed it?" she asked the other cruiser in the room, San Juan.

"Yup," she said. "Found something to prop it up."

Juneau nodded and sipped more coffee, her reason for coming out early shooting back to her mind. "Ah, right, that reminds me," she said. "Have you seen my copy of The Fighting Sullivans? I can't seem to find it."

"Oh, that old thing?" San Juan replied. "That's what I used to prop up the table. They really _don't_ make DVD cases like they used to, I'm impressed how well that thing's holding up."

Slowly, Juneau blinked. Slowly, she leaned down and checked the wobbly leg. Yup. There was the case. Slowly, she leaned back up - and then in one fluid motion, she flipped the table so that it soared, top-first, into San Juan, squashing the cruiser between the high-speed table and the nearest wall.

Satisfied that justice had been dealt and no further damage was forthcoming, Juneau squatted down and examined the case. Undamaged. Well, San Juan was definitely right about one thing: they didn't make DVD cases like this anymore.

~o~

Three days later found Juneau in the larger common area San Diego's cruiser dorm shared. She was here to microwave some chocolate chip cookies - and see if anyone knew where The Fighting Sullivans had gotten to _this_ time. San Diego and Atlanta hadn't known, and San Juan had gone catatonic instead of frantically grabbing and throwing, so they weren't going to be any help.

Walking into the common area, she saw that Canberra had already claimed the microwave - and just before she closed the door, Juneau spotted the spine of The Fighting Sullivans. Eyes wide, she kicked off the ground.

Canberra's first sign that she was in trouble was when Juneau's foot rammed into the back of her head and forced it into the wall. _Not_ the microwave; Juneau was angry, not stupid. Landing on her feet, she popped open the microwave, pulled out the DVD, wiped off the grease from the piece of pizza that had been sitting on it, pitched the pizza into the nearest garbage bin, and then placed in her cookies. Twenty seconds later, the microwave dinged, she retrieved her cookies, and left.

All of this happened in under a minute, leaving the rest of the cruisers present understandably befuddled.

"What just happened?" both Houstons chorused in harmony.

"Canberra was being a dumbass, clearly," Montpelier said dismissively. "Note to self: don't touch that DVD case."

There were general murmurs of agreement at that. No one noticed a technician examining one of the twelve coffee machines, nor the fact that he perked up and grinned at the news.

~o~

Juneau took the stairs two at a time. The email she'd gotten about her DVD had been quite clear about what would happen to it if she didn't show up, and a quick search had confirmed that it was missing. Obviously, she didn't particularly _want_ to put herself at Harder's mercy, but if it meant getting her DVD back...

Reaching the top, she stopped to catch her breath and compose herself. No sense in showing up flustered. Once she was composed, she reached up, and knocked at the door.

It wasn't Harder who answered. Oh, and there was an odd, faint squelching sound.

"Oh, hey, good timing," The Sullivans said. "Come on in. I just finished setting up Harder's punishment for this little prank."

That definitely brightened Juneau's mood. "Can I see?" she asked, almost eagerly.

The Sullivans pointed. "Sure, just through that door."

As Juneau approached, that squelching noise grew louder. It was also slightly familiar, though the cruiser couldn't quite place it. By the time she opened the door, she was outright frowning.

Two minutes later, she closed the door, a haunted look on her face. Turning to The Sullivans, she intoned, "You're a monster and you're going straight to hell."

"Eh, he'll get used to it. And start to enjoy it," the destroyer blithely replied.

"That's what I'm afraid of..." Juneau muttered. "Where did you even _get_ an Abyssal capture unit?"

"Bribed a few submarines. But that's not important!" The Sullivans skipped up to Juneau, and pressed the DVD into her hands. "Keep this safe, okay?"

"Okay..."


	303. Rule 3002

**Rule 3002. Don't separate destroyer divisions, especially ones that contain sister ships. The effects range from loneliness to nightmares, anxiety attacks, and in some cases, withdrawal.  
**  
Wreck, on occasion, visited San Diego. If she was going to be commander-in-chief, she needed to get to know her armed forces, and thus her shipgirls ('her' shipgirls. That thought always provoked a made cackle from the Abyssal). Just needed to announce it well in advance so everyone could get Wisconsin elsewhere. Most of the time, things went well.

And then there were times like these. In Wreck's hand was a half pie. Strawberry. Off to one side were the Taffy 3 destroyers, being reluctantly lectured by New Jersey. And in the rest of the room was... well...

[That poor dog...] Wreck muttered, gaping at the scene. [Didn't even know you could _do_ that with a potato peeler... or that they sold potato peelers like that...]

"I'm so sorry," Admiral Holloway sighed. "This happens every so often and we never see it coming."

Wreck glanced to the destroyers again, frowning. [Honestly, it's fine, you would not _believe_ some of the antics the more humanoid Abyssals get up to in their spare time. This is... top five, I'll admit, but not the worst I've seen. What I'm wondering is why you haven't separated them. They sure seem to feed each others' worst tendencies.]

"We tried."

So great was the tone of defeated frustration that Wreck was brought up short. Obviously, it hadn't ended well, but why?

[Okay, so I'm assuming that failed somehow,] Wreck said. [How? It must have been pretty spectacular to let them keep scheming together.]

She was _not_ expecting Holloway to look in askance at her. [What?]

"Wreck, how much do you actually _know_ about destroyer shipgirls?" he asked with a hint of incredulity.

[Obviously not enough,] the Abyssal grumbled.

Another sigh. "Okay, so what you have to understand is that destroyers are _very social_. It's why you rarely see them without their division-mates or a few sisters," Holloway explained. "Separate them for any length of time, and, well, bad things happen."

[What kind of bad things?]

A faraway look came onto Admiral Holloway's face...

~o~

 _New Jersey took the stairs two at a time. Hoel working herself to exhaustion and collapse was bad. Heermann having to be prescribed sleeping pills by Medusa due to the nightmares was_ worse _. She'd been dreading what was going on with Johnston, and only the fact that by all accounts she wasn't_ doing _anything yet kept her from running after her the minute she dropped off Hoel._

 _Bursting onto the roof, New Jersey was confronted with her worst nightmare: Johnston, standing on the edge, staring off into the distance. Granted, such a fall_ probably _wouldn't be able to kill her, but Jersey wasn't very interested in finding out either way._

 _"Johnston!" the battleship called out. "Don't do anything rash!"_

 _No response._

 _"We're going to put you and Hoel and Heermann back together, so just step down from there, please?"_

 _A long, agonizing wait, and then Johnston turned around and blinked. "Oh, hey, Jersey. What's up?"_

 _A spasm ran up New Jersey's legs, and she damn near faceplanted on the roof tiles. "What's up?!" she snapped. "I think you're two seconds from throwing yourself off this building and you ask_ what's up?!"

 _"You thought I was going to jump off?" Johnston repeated. At the lack of denial, she suddenly burst into laughter. "Oh, come on, Jersey, you really think I was going to_ jump? _I was-!"_

 _What Johnston was actually doing was lost when, in the throes of her laughter, she slipped right off the edge. Jersey sprinted up to the edge just in time to see Johnston impact head-first with the concrete in earth-shaking fashion. Luckily for the battleship's blood pressure, this was almost immediately followed by Johnston flopping her feet onto the ground in an attempt to pry her head out of the soil. No dice. Sighing, New Jersey turned for the stairs._

 _"The things I do for those girls..." she muttered._

~o~

[So what _was_ Johnston doing up there?]

Wreck's question shook Admiral Holloway out of his thoughts, and he quickly gestured at the mess in front of them. "A prank. In fact, I'm given to understand that _that_ is a scaled-down version of the prank Johnston was planning before we reunited the three."

Wreck didn't respond, thoughts of [That's _scaled down?!]_ warring with [This is her being _restrained?!]._ In the end, she just threw up her hands and stalked off. [Whatever.] Then she eyed the pie, and tossed it, tin and all, into her mouth. [Mm, not bad.]

~o~

HMS Khartoum scooped up a spoonful of scrambled egg in the Alexandria mess, but instead of eating it herself, moved it in front of HMS Kandahar's mouth, the other destroyer eagerly biting down on it. This was because her hands were occupied holding Khartoum as close to her as possible, nuzzling into her sister's shoulder and making cooing noises. The rest of the K-class were seated at the same table, ignoring the familiar sight.

Barham, recently arrived from Portsmouth, was not.

"That's just not right," she muttered.

"We know," HMS Kelly said quietly. "But good luck trying to convince Kandahar of that. We've tried. Many times."

"If you say so," Barham replied. "Have you tried forcefully separating them?"

"Yes," Kelly said, a haunted look on her face. "I remember it like it was yesterday..."

~o~

 _Kelly stared. Her jaw was hanging limp and open. Her eyes threatened to pop out of her sockets. Even the good posture drilled into her by the older destroyers had utterly abandoned her. Kandahar's new single room was now a shrine to Khartoum. Posters with blown-up pictures taken by the PR people. A variety of knick-knacks of Sudanese origin, and more of Khartoum ori- was that a lock of hair?! Clothing?! Kelly's eyes tracked to a small book sitting on a desk. She recognized it. She dearly wished she didn't._

 _'Where did she get a copy of_ that?! _I thought they were all destroyed!'_

 _And that's not getting into the many voodoo dolls, with the names of everyone involved in the decision to separate the two destroyers._

 _Kandahar was nowhere to be found. This was a good thing._

 _Lingering only long enough to take a picture for proof, Kelly booked it out of there. Those two needed to get back together, ASAP, and_ damn _what high command said!_

~o~

"Huh... reminds me of a similar incident with Porcupine..."

~o~

 _The story of HMS Porcupine was one of the odder tales of the Second World War, the polar opposite of the story of HMS Zubian. Struck by a torpedo, she had been split in half in order to more easily be transported back to Britain, and reduced to a pair of accomodation hulks named HMS Pork and HMS Pine._

 _When she was summoned as a shipgirl, everyone immediately thought of trying to do that again. Surprisingly, Porcupine herself was just as eager. Give the project to Vanguard, and voila, two half-destroyers, one with all the torpedoes but only two of the guns and the other with all four guns and the depth charges._

 _Then someone tried to separate them._

 _The logic was sound: Pine was better suited to inshore duties in Egypt, Pork to work with the MTBs in the Channel. When they were told that, they didn't take it well. Like any destroyer, really._

 _"Fuuuuu-"_

 _But in a different way. There were not temper tantrums, no nightmares, no anxiety attacks, no- you get the idea._

 _"-sion-"_

 _No, they quickly determined that they had to go back to being Porcupine again._

How _was a question on everyone's minds._

 _"Ha!"_

 _It was also a question easily answered._

 _A flash of light, and where two girls had been standing now there was one - one that was... well, fat. "Aw, shoot," Porcupine said. "Well, guess I gotta wait half an hour to try again..."_

~o~

"We just called in Vanguard after that," Barham finished.

Kelly nodded. "Yeah. You just shouldn't separate destroyers. It's a bad idea!"

A scream echoed over the mess, and so everyone saw Lance drive her fist through a wall.

"You'd think they'd stop trying at this point," Barham grumbled.


	304. Rule 3010

**Rule 3010. Making Gak and leaving it in puddles outside the destroyer dorms is forbidden.  
**  
Naval Base San Diego had been burning. But now, the firefighters had finally contained the last of the blazes, buildings had stopped collapsing, and the wounded were gathered and being treated in an impromptu field hospital in the Hilton San Diego.

Despite being wounded himself, Admiral Holloway was not among those at the hospital, even if the pounding headache he had made him wish he was. Instead, he was in his office, interviewing people in an attempt to find out what the _fuck_ had just happened.

"Sorry, Admiral," Dyson said apologetically. "Didn't see anything. All I know is that the walls were exploding and it was time to GTFO."

"Right. Thanks for coming anyway," Holloway sighed. The destroyer took that as her cue to leave, and in between that and his next interviewee the poor Admiral popped down another ibuprofen with some water.

Taylor was his next interviewee, and she poked her head in shortly after he downed the drug. "Come in, come in," Holloway announced - and then started in surprise at what was in her hands. "Er, what _is_ that?"

'That' was some odd pink ooze. "It's gak," Taylor answered. "Or slime, if you prefer. I managed to nab some after Willy D. slipped on it but before the explosions started."

 _That_ part of the investigation would likely be chalked up to Magical Sparkly Shipgirl Bullshit as soon as they figured out the chain of events and how to not get another one like it going. Ever again.

"So you're saying William D. Porter slipped on this stuff?" Holloway asked in clarification. Reaching out, he poked the... whatever it was, feeling it jiggle. "What, did someone just leave it on her doorstep or something?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what happened."

Sighing, Holloway let his head thunk against his desk. This was a mistake. Pain exploded in his head like a 16" HC shell, and he followed up the headdesk by flopping off his chair and onto the floor, whimpering like a toddler missing its mommy.

"I'll, uh, I'll tell Missouri to start the investigation, okay?"

Huh. That was a good idea. Holloway whimpered in a vaguely affirmative way, and hoped his message came across.

~o~

Missouri had been very eager to launch the investigation when Taylor reported it. A little too eager. That's why the destroyer found herself trailing behind the battleship as they made their way to their first suspects.

"Oh, c'mon!" Johnston whined. "I'd never do something like that!"

"Really," Missouri said, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, really! That could've hurt her! My pranks may be mean-spirited... sometimes... but I don't want to actually _hurt_ anybody." Johnston then stuck her tongue out. "Also, that gak stuff is gross and I can never get it right."

"She's got a point," Taylor pointed out. "Two of them."

Missouri frowned. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a blue raspberry Jolly Rancher, and held it up, watching Johnston's eyes track the movement.

"Do you solemnly swear that you had nothing to do with this?" Missouri asked.

"I had nothing to do with this. I'm innocent!"

Up went the candy. "Enjoy." And down Johnston's gullet it went.

~o~

 _But she caught me on the counter (It wasn't me)  
_  
"Wait, something happened?" Harder, thankfully female right now, said.

 _Saw me bangin' on the sofa (It wasn't me)  
_  
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Missouri sniffed.  
 _  
I even had her in the shower (It wasn't me)  
_  
"You can hear the music, can't'cha? The playlist only went rap fifteen minutes ago, before that it was metal at max volume. I didn't hear _anything_."  
 _  
She even caught me on camera (It wasn't me)  
_  
"Story checks out!" Taylor called out from where she was examining Harder's laptop.  
 _  
She saw the marks on my shoulder (It wasn't me)  
_  
"Hey, get your grubby destroyer paws off of that!" Harder snapped.

 _Heard the words that I told her (It wasn't me)  
_  
"Harder," Missouri said, her voice hard. "In spite of your reputation and... unfortunate choice of song lyrics, I am forced to agree that you did not do this."  
 _  
Heard the screams get louder (It wasn't me)  
_  
Suddenly, she leaned in close, a dead-eyed expression on her face.

"Don't blow it."

~o~

"Well, that was disappointing," Taylor sighed as she slumped on a couch.

"Better an honest mistake than deliberate maliciousness," Missouri pointed out. "Though I will admit I do regret not being able to punish a perpetrator."

"No kidding. I actually feel bad about telling Otter this was all her fault. Those puppy-dog eyes..."

"Actually, in this case, I would say they were otter-cub eyes."

Taylor was about to respond to that when something occurred to her. Well. Kinda.

"I have a sudden feeling we're forgetting something..."

~o~

Back in his office, Admiral Holloway whimpered into his carpet, making a mental note to have it cleaned sometime.


	305. Rule 3012

**Rule 3012. Stop sending Yamato, Musashi and Shinano congratulations cards for finally being able to fit in the Panama Canal.  
**  
"Aghptf!"

That exclamation, along with what sounded like a shower of paper, pulled Mutsu out of her mailbox. There was a pile of paper a ways down, two tufts of gray hair- Musashi. Musashi was under that pile.

Curious, Mutsu was about to go grab one of the letters when Musashi shoved her way out of the pile, sending letters scattering everywhere. Conveniently, several ended up at Mutsu's feet, making it easy to pick one up and tear it open.

"Son of a- who sent all these?" Musashi snapped, kicking one of the larger piles sticking up above the mass. "This is ridiculous! What on earth is so important that you need to send _hundreds_ of the same damn letter?!"

"Apparently," Mutsu cut in, her eyebrows climbing for her hairline. "Congratulating you on being able to fit through Panama Canal now."

Musashi froze. _"That's_ what this is about? Someone sent hundreds of these letters-" Another kick to the pile. "Just to imply that I'm _fat?!"_ An angry smile now on her face, Musashi angled her right arm at her side to best show off her biceps, flexed, and grasped the wrist with her other arm. "See these guns? It's all pure muscle here! No fa- yipe!"

That last was due to Mutsu, an unimpressed look on her face, reaching over and pinching Musashi's gut, getting a surprising amount of flesh.

"Uh-huh..." the older battleship drawled. "Perhaps, if you laid off all the french fries and milkshakes you get with your burgers, you'd have an actual six-pack and not inspire these sorts of jokes."

Grumbling, Musashi was about to fire back when her phone suddenly rang. "Don't go anywhere," she said, before picking up. "Moshi-moshi. ... Oh, Shinano! What a surprise! ... Yes, you should call more. So what's up?" The battleship's face suddenly darkened, and Mutsu surreptitiously leaned a little closer. "Oh. So you got those, too, huh?" The dark look evaporated, replaced by panic. "W-Whoa, whoa, hold on, you're not fat! ... So what if I haven't seen you in a few months, weight doesn't change _that_ fast! ... Yes, I'm sure. ... Hey, if you want to up your exercise, be my guest, but I don't recommend a diet. ... Oh, don't worry, I'll be taking _good care_ of whoever sent these. Yeah. Bye!"

A beep, and Musashi turned to Mutsu, who took an unconscious step backwards at the look on the other battleship's face.

"Get me Ise and Hyuga, and tell them we have an investigation to start."

"Yes ma'am!" Mutsu barked, before scurrying off.

~o~

"Panama Canal congratulations cards?" An annoyed scowl passed over Yamato's face. "Yes, I did receive one. From what you've told me, though, this one was far more insulting."

"What did it say?" Ise asked, surprisingly serious. _Very_ surprisingly serious, considering Mutsu had found her trying to get a potato to confess to its misdeeds.

Instead of answering, Yamato slid the card over. Ise took it, read it, and then had to suppress a snicker, leaving it up to Hyuuga to read it aloud.

"'I can't wait until Enterprise makes you not fit again.' Oh, that's just rude."

"And creepy," Musashi muttered.

"Honey!" Enterprise suddenly called from the kitchen. "We're out of peanut butter! Again!"

Yamato groaned and hung her head. "I'll get some more once I'm done talking to my sister!" To Musashi: "Was I that bad?"

"Yes."

"We're getting off track," Ise cut in. "Has anyone else outside the Japanese navy gotten these cards? I know Midway, Coral Sea, and Louisiana all wouldn't fit."

"Yeah, they all got 'em! Midway called me to complain!" Enterprise called out again.

"And according to Kanmusu Online, Bismarck and Tirpitz got the letters, too," Hyuuga added.

"Interesting..." Ise muttered. She stood. "Musashi, Yamato, I'm afraid this is going to take some time to unravel. I'll be in touch." And with that, she left, though not before Hyuuga had to stop Musashi from going after her.

"Let her be," the older battleship said. "This is the critical phase of the investigation, and she _cannot_ be interrupted."

~o~

Ise grinned. There was her target. A fairly easy investigation, all told, but the motivations... yes, this was why she still did this. Digging into peoples' heads and seeing what made them tick.

"Interesting plan," she said, causing her quarry to flinch and whirl around. "Send out those letters, make it seem like Aso had done it, and essentially _force_ us to put some actual effort into finding her." Ise's face fell into utter blankness. "Too bad it was also a _stupid_ plan."

Kasagi opened her mouth to protest-

"I said it was _interesting_ , not good. And many of the most interesting plans are the dumbest."

And closed it right up again.

"Nobody even _thought_ it was Aso. It never crossed their minds," Ise said. "More to the point, none of the shipgirls you sent those letters to liked the implication that they were fat, and Shinano took it especially badly, which means Musashi is out for blood."

Now the blood was evacuating the carrier's face like schoolchildren from the Blitz.

"I see you grasp the basic problem," Ise smirked. "Now, if I drop you off in the Admiralty's hands-"

"Yes, yes, I surrender!" Kasagi interrupted.


	306. Rule 3020

**Rule 3020: Do not threaten Royal Navy Shipgirls with US repair fairies, not matter how amusing their reactions to one maybe it's still mean.**

"Son of a _fuck!"  
_  
Admiral Graham wanted to just keep walking and ignore the outburst from his repair ship. He really wanted to. But... what if it was important? Or related to the health of one of his shipgirls? Sighing, he stopped and knocked on the door.

"Resource? Is something wrong?"

The shouting stopped, then the door was flung open. Resource looked like she'd been up for a couple days, her clothes rumpled and stained, dark bags under her eyes, and the overpower scent of steel and machine oil not quite covering up the body odor.

"Is something wrong?" she repeated in a somewhat crazed tone. "Oh, yes, something is very wrong."

"Hi Admiral!" Warspite chimed in from deeper in the repair bay.

"Shut up!" Admiral Graham barked. He turned back to Resource. "You still haven't fixed her?"

"My brain... is mush!" Resource declared, her crazed tone turning delirious. "And now... I think I'm gonna pass out."

*WHUMP!*

And so she did.

Groaning, Admiral Graham ran through his options and came to the dispiriting conclusion that he had only one option. He pulled out his phone, and dialed a number his superiors had told him to use only if _absolutely necessary._

 _"Hello?"_

"It's time."

~o~

"Come on, dear, I'm fine," Vanguard protested. This did nothing to stop Revenge from continuing to half-drag her down the hall.

"A blown condenser is not 'fine'," she growled. "You may not be a frontline ship anymore, but that's no excuse to neglect maintenance." Under her breath, "I know what _that's_ like..."

Vanguard gave no sign that she'd heard that last. But she also shut up.

Though that may have been from the three shipgirls - light cruiser Cleopatra, light carrier Hermes, and battleship Royal Oak - parked outside Resource's door, listening in with wide-eyed expressions.

"Oh, great," Revenge groaned, rolling her eyes. "Hey, could you guys maybe _move?_ We need to get to-!"

Oh, wait, there was Resource right there, slumped against the wall. Revenge, wide-eyed, moved to the door, Vanguard trailing behind. Both battleships put their ear to the thin wood.

 _"Ah! Ah! Hna!"  
_  
And blushed furiously. Come to think of it, the trio already at the door were blushing, too.

"Perverts," Vanguard muttered.

"It's not like that!" Hermes quietly protested.

"Then what _is_ it like?" Revenge asked.

"That's an American repair ship in there," Cleopatra said. "And those noises-"

 _"Ahaaan!"  
_  
The blushing intensified. "Are probably her working on Warspite."

As logical as that conclusion was, there was just one problem with it...

"What the bloody hell is she _doing_ to create those sounds?" Vanguard hissed.

"I don't know, and I don't _wanna_ know!" whimpered Royal Oak.

Then, suddenly, the noises stopped. The British shipgirls, after a second of frozen terror, skipped back and onto their feet. And just in time, too, for the door opened and the American repair ship stepped out.

"Hector..." someone muttered.

"Oh, hey," the repair ship said in surprise. "Um... Cairo, Revolution, Resistance-"

"Those aren't our names!" Cleopatra snapped. "Not any of ours!"

Hector rolled her eyes. "Right, whatever." Stepping aside, she let a bow-legged, beet red Warspite walk through the door. "Here, have her back. All four limbs attached and everything." And with that, Hector slammed the door shut.

Immediately, all five shipgirls crowded around Warspite. "What happened in there?" "What was it like?" "What was with those moans, seriously?"

A sniff, and everyone froze. Tears bloomed in Warspite's eyes, and she shoved Cleopatra aside and sprinted away, screaming "I can't be a bride anymooooooore!", leaving the quintet with far more questions than answers.

~o~

"Hmm..."

Argus paused in her work and glanced over to Admiral Graham, who was looking out the window. "Sir?"

"Have you heard the rumors going around the base lately, Argus?"

The old carrier rolled her eyes. Honestly, the things people made up... "Of course, sir. I don't think there's anyone south of London who _hasn't_ heard those rumors yet." She paused. "You don't believe them... do you, sir?"

Though she couldn't see his face, Argus just knew her admiral was smirking now. "A reliable source has told me that yes, the basic gist of the rumor is true." He indicated the window. "And come here, please. Observe the reaction of the fleet."

Indulging her admiral, Argus stood and walked up to the window. Below her was a scene of utter pandemonium, shipgirls running every which way like their hair was on fire, or else hiding in the most ridiculously impractical spots she'd ever seen.

"And all because of some rumors about American repair fairies and their magic fingers," Admiral Graham chuckled. But this wasn't his usual chuckle. No it was lower, and malicious. It awakened a dark suspicion within Argus.

"Don't tell me you're going to threaten American repair fairies to keep everyone in line."

"Can you blame me?"

A moment's reflection told Argus that no, she couldn't blame him, but that didn't mean she had to let him do this. The effect on morale this would have... oh, and it would piss off the Americans, which was probably worse. Thankfully, she had a solution to the problem. Reaching onto the admiral's desk, she grabbed the newspaper there, rolled it up, and then gave him a smack upside the head that sent him tumbling ass over teakettle.

"Bad admiral!" she admonished. "No being mean to your shipgirls!"

"Yes ma'am..."


	307. Rule 3023

**Rule 3023. Honey I Shrunk the Kids and their sequels are hereby banned.  
**  
A knock sounded at Admiral Holloway's door. "Come in!" he announced, not pausing in his paperwork.

"Admiral, I fucked up."

Holloway's head shot up. He had a distinct impression that not only were cats and dogs suddenly living in harmony and that Satan was now skating to work this morning, but he'd also become a monkey's uncle somehow. He blamed Provence. Just to be sure, he checked his window for flying pigs and whether the Earth was still on its axis.

"For fuck's sake, I'm not _that_ bad!" South Dakota groused.

"Apparently not," Holloway agreed, turning back around. "So. Explain _how_ you fucked up, please."

A twelve-inch-tall Phoenix popped up on South Dakota's shoulder. _"This_ is how she fucked up," the cruiser said in a surprisingly normal voice.

Holloway blinked. "What."

"Well, I saw Honey, I Shrunk the Kids over the weekend..." Chuckling nervously, South Dakota looked away and began poking her fingers together. "And, well, one thing led to another, and-"

"She built a shrink ray," Phoenix deadpanned.

The battleship slumped over. "I built a shrink ray..."

Despite the situation, Admiral Holloway only felt mild exasperation, which was mildly terrifying, but oh well. "The important question is: can you change her back?"

"Give me two days and I'll have something to reverse it whipped up!" South Dakota confidently declared.

A zapping sound echoed in from the outer office.

"South Dako-" began Admiral Holloway, only to cut himself off as he saw the blank look in her eyes. "Phoenix. Does that sound like the shrink ray?"

"Yeah."

Sighing, the admiral stood, walked up to the door, and opened it. He could just see the top of Wright's head, the rest of her obscured by her desk. No culprit, either, unfortunately.

"Phoenix, go make sure South Dakota gets to work on that reversal device," Holloway declared, unbuttoning his uniform jacket. "I'll go after the culprit myself."

That seemed a bad idea to Phoenix, and she said so. "Are you sure that's aaaaaaa holy crap."

The reason for the sudden awe was that underneath his coat, Admiral Holloway was absolutely _ripped_. And not in that no-bodyfat, rather grotesque way bodybuilders got. No, this was the build of a man who wrestled bears, the t-shirt he wore straining to contain the musculature. Then he turned around.

"Ah, yes, Phoenix?"

The cruiser didn't respond; she was too busy staring at his abs, which were, in defiance of all logic, plainly visibly through the shirt.

"My God you could grind meat on those things..."

"Can't, actually. We've tried."

Phoenix practically combusted. Oh God, she'd said that aloud! Holloway, for his part, set off to find a culprit.


	308. Rule 3024

**Rule 3024. USN ship girls, we understand your desire to contribute to July 4th celebrations, but unsanctioned... contributions during the cannons section of the 1812 Overture is NOT DESIRED./Rule 3025. We also know your desire to celebrate our Independence Day and to show it off to non-US ship girls, so check up the local ordinances in regards to fireworks./Rule 3026. And to all the Canadian shipgirls preparing for Canada Day, much the same to you.  
**  
It was four in the morning, that time of night when sleep was the lightest and anything, from back pain to thirst, could jolt you awake. This was the real reason why it seemed like everything that woke you up happened in those hours.

So naturally, the knock at the door jolted Admiral Holloway out of his sleep. And also jolted his wife out of his sleep. Holloway simply rolled over and went back to dozing, but his poor wife had no such powers. So she was still awake when whoever was at the door knocked again. Sitting up, she looked over at her sleeping husband, and with a sigh placed her feet in her slippers and padded downstairs.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she grumpily called at the _third_ set of knocks. She fumbled open the door, and blinked in befuddlement at the woman with many suitcases standing on her doorstep.

"Hey, sorry about the late hour, but this is James Holloway's house, right?" the stranger asked.

A normal woman might have felt possessive, angry at this sort of scene. Jane Holloway just hollered, "Honey! Someone's at the door for you!" up the stairs.

A couple minutes later Admiral Holloways thumped down the stairs, still half-asleep, and as Jane went back up to get at least a _little_ more sleep, he blinked in befuddlement. "Lombard? What are you doing here?"

"You'll find out in the news tomorrow. Just... I need a place to crash for a few days until this all blows over, okay?"

"Couch has a pullout bed," Holloway grunted, turning around and padding back up to bed.

"Thanks, James!"

~o~

The next morning found Holloway sitting at the table, newspaper in one hand and tilted, shaking coffee mug in the other. His eyes were froglike, and his mouth hung open. Admiral Lombard sat opposite him in sweatpants and a bathrobe, looking alarmingly frumpy. And just plain alarmed.

"Uh, James, your coffee-"

Too late. A shake of his hand finally caused an inevitable spill, drops of hot coffee falling into Holloway's lap.

"YARGH!"

And then all over him when he practically jumped out of his seat. Lombard winced, and stood.

"I'll go get a towel or something-"

"Oh no you don't!" Holloway snapped. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the _hell_ Canada's largest wildfire in recorded history has to do with you crashing on my couch!"

Lombard flinched, her mind flashing back to what she'd found near that fire...

 _"So pretty..."  
_  
"Canada Day."

Holloway blinked. "What?"

"Canada Day was yesterday," Lombard elaborated. "And my shipgirls suggested we make a bonfire to celebrate."

Being another veteran of shipgirl insanity, Admiral Holloway knew _exactly_ where this was going. "So they decided to make the biggest bonfire they could think of."

"Yes!" Lombard wailed, suddenly turning and bashing her head against the nearest cabinet. "And I didn't find out until _after_ the forest was on fire!"

"Well," Holloway said smugly. "That's one thing _I_ don't have to worry about."

As if to punish the admiral for his hubris, the universe chose that exact moment to have Bibb poke her head in.

"Yo, so, we found this huge stock of fireworks, which are completely illegal in the state of California," she said. "We need an admiralty ruling, or we're going to have a riot on our hands."

Now it was Holloway bashing his head against a hard surface. "I should know better by now," he half-muttered, half-sobbed. "So why...?"

Suddenly, gunfire ripped through the base, causing Lombard and Bibb to jump in surprise. As for Admiral Holloway?

"I'm going to kill them," he said, very pleasantly.

"Uh, kill who?" Admiral Lombard wondered.

"My battleships." And with that, he stomped out - still covered in coffee stains. Neither woman pointed that out. They did exchange confused glances.

"Should we stop him?" Lombard asked.

"We should let him work out his frustrations," Bibb shrugged. "Plus, the sight'll probably defuse the riot."

The two settled back to wait. They didn't have to wait long. A sudden shout of "But we did it over water this time!" - from the voice, Alabama, and man she had a set of lungs on her for her voice to reach that far - was followed by an echoing scream that terminated in the sound of falling leaves and splintering wood. Bibb turned to Lombard.

"So, I heard you're in some legal trouble back in Canada."


	309. Rule 3036

**Rule 3036. Musashi and New Jersey, quit arguing about which burger joint is the best.**

 **Welcome to the Shipgirls Online message boards.**  
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 **Topic: The Burger Thread**  
 **In: Boards ► Global ► General Discussion ► Life on Shore**  
 **Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Posted On Jan 1st 2011:  
As ordered, spun off from the cookery thread so we don't keep derailing it. This thread is for burgers, and all the foods related to them, whether it's eating or cooking. Share restaurants and recipes, and above all, enjoy the burgers!

 **(Showing page 73 of 75)  
►MeganeBono **(JMSDF) (天霧)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Wow. Normally, I never bother to go to McDonald's, but if they had these Gilroy Garlic Fries I might actually make the trip. Just the once.

Musashis_Musashis, please don't hit me. Or excommunicate me.

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
It's fine, it's fine, don't worry about it. Trust me, I've had those fries, and they are amazing. The garlic fry is definitely a worthy addition to the pantheon of burger side dishes.

 **►Pagoda Simulator** (JMSDF) (扶桑)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Finally tried a burger that wasn't made in the mess. Oh my god, sooooo gooood. Makes the crushing despair of everyday life a little easier to bear.

Out of curiosity, what's the thread's consensus on the best burger?

 **►Whiskey Golf** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Post-War Veteran) (weeaboo)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
YOU STUPID PAGODA!

 **►Kusonator** (JMSDF) (Kuso Boat) (曙)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
SHITTY BATTLESHIP, WHAT'D YOU DO THAT FOR?!

 **►The Greater Evil** (Allied Abyssal) (BB-66)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Oh, now you've fucking done it. Now you done fucked up!

Such misfortune indeed, holy shit.

 **►Pagoda Simulator** (JMSDF) (扶桑)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Wait, what did I do?

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
I swear, Tokyo's sprouting new, good burger places like mushrooms. But I'm partial to Burger Mania, whatever the location.

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
In-N-Out. Duh.

 **► Call_Sign_Illustrate** (USN) (Post-War Veteran) (CA-75) (Helena (1945))  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:

media. giphy media/ LFlT04CTtrwc/ giphy. gif

[USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: CHAN BEHAVIOR]

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **...** **71** **,** **72** **, 73,** **74** **,** **75**

 **(Showing page 74 of 75)  
►6TheDragon6BladePrincess6 **(JMSDF) (Chuuni Boat) (天龍)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:

i0. kym-cdn photos/ images/ newsfeed/ 000/ 557/ 282/ bc3. jpg

[USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: CHAN BEHAVIOR]

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Musashis_Musashis  
U wot m8?

Tell me, how does it feel to be so completely and utterly wrong?

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
How does it feel to not have any taste buds?

In-N-Out, pff. Call me when it actually has decent fries.

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Nice goalpost-shifting there. I already conceded that the fries aren't the best, and we're talking best burger. The fries do not enter the equation.

Now, if we're talking actual burgers... ohhhhh... that toasted sponge bun... the melted cheese... the juicy beef... oh... an explosion of flavor...

 **►HighImpactNightBattleViolence** (JMSDF) (Yasen Baka) (川内)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Well, that went places in a hurry. Places I'm not sure I'm comfortable with.

 **►The German Pride** (Deutsche Marine) (Not A He) (Bismarck 1940)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
There's enough irony in that post to build another me...

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
Pff, American cheese. Call me when the put bleu, Roquefort, or gorgonzola on top of 100% genuine Wagyu beef. That's a burger, not the sad, salt-riddled stacks you call a burger.

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
YOU DO NOT PUT BLEU CHEESE ON A FUCKING BURGER, YOU FUCKING ORIENTAL TROLLOP!

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
I DON'T WANNA HEAR THAT FROM YOU, MISS "MY SHORTS ARE PRACTICALLY PANTIES"! OR MISS "I LIKE TO PUT FUCKING BUTTER IN MY FUCKING PATTIES"?!

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
BUTTER IN PATTIES IS DELICIOUS, AND THAT'S ONLY FOR LEAN BEEF! DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?!

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 **(Showing page 75 of 75)  
►Musashis_Musashis **(Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
I DEFINITELY KNOW MORE THAN YOU, ASSHOLE!

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
SHITPILE OF STEEL!

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
OVERPRICED BATTLECRUISER!

 **►Mistress White** (USN) (Verified Badass) (CVE-66)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
I still maintain that the Awful Awful is the best burger.

 **►TheBlackDragon** (USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
WHITE, I WILL SHOVE MY CANNONS SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU'LL BE VOMITING NOTHING BUT ARMOR-PIERCING BROADSIDES!

 **►Musashis_Musashis** (Original Poster) (JMSDF) (武蔵)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
WHITE, I'M GOING TO SHOVE AN OXYGEN TORPEDO DOWN YOUR THROAT AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT THEN!

 **►Colgate** (Moderator) (Baguette Boat)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:

STOP

Jesus fucking Christ, people. I have no words. Well, except these.

Thread locked for review. Musashis_Musashis, TheBlackDragon, you're all taking a permanent vacation from the thread. If you beg really nicely, the rest of the moderation staff might let you in.

 **►HMAster Blaster** (Moderator) (Royal Australian Navy) (D84)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
After review, Colgate's permanent threadbans stay, and I'm also going to throw on a couple fifty-point infractions in for good measure, because that was so far away from okay I can't even see it.

6TheDragon6BladePrincess6, Call_Sign_Illustrate, the correct response to seeing a blowup like this before it happens is to try and defuse things or call in the staff, not indulge in what's basically gleeful handwringing. Have 25 points and a three-day threadban each.

And on that note, Mistress White, you were not helping. Only the fact that this was already a shitshow is keeping me from infracting you. Consider this an official warning to not stir the pot again.

The rest of you, have your thread back. I'm gonna go hit up the nearest bar...

 **►Mistress White** (USN) (Verified Badass) (CVE-66)  
Replied On Jan 1st 2011:  
So, I'm thinking of opening a burger bar and I'd like to gauge interest.

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **...** **73** **,** **74** **, 75**


	310. Rule 3039

**Rule 3039. Repeat after us: Body odor is not a weapon.  
**  
The door slid open, and Harusame walked into the briefing room, Yuudachi and Samidare already seated. The latter two sighed. This did not sit well with Harusame.

"What?" she demanded.

"We were expecting Murasame," Samidare answered.

"Yeah!" Yuudachi added. "She's, poi, been missing for _days!"  
_  
"Oh, don't worry, she'll be here," Harusame said, sitting down. "Said she had a secret technique to complete."

"Then she should've worked it out with us, poi," Yuudachi groused. "She's already jeopardizing our teamwork, poi, and now she wants to add a new technique in?! This is gonna end badly, I just know it, poi."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it," Harusame said dismissively. "It's Murasame! She knows what she's doing."

"That's what worries me, poi."

The destroyers settled in to wait, staring and imagining or else playing on their phone. Yuudachi, doing the former, visibly grew more and more agitated as time passed, in a curling of her lips to reveal her elongated incisors, or her finger tapping impatiently against her desk. Then, suddenly, she stiffened, grabbed her nose, and then keeled over onto the floor, whimpering in agony.

"Yuudachi!" Samidare yelped, nearly knocking her desk over in her haste to help her sister. "Are you alright?"

"Wow. What could put her down so easily?"

It was a good question. Yuudachi was one of the toughest shipgirls in Japan, with her own super mode and everything. The list of things that could defeat her was short, and not _that_ much superior.

Unfortunately, the two destroyers had no time to contemplate the causes of Yuudachi's sudden incapacitation. Their noses had spotted incoming bandits on radar and were busy firing up the air-raid sirens and scrambling interceptors. Or, to put it another way, a foul stench had just made itself known.

This foul stench was not one to provoke overly-dramatic descriptions of what it smelled like. This was just body odor, except turned up to eleven with the dial ripped off. And it kept getting worse and worse until finally, the door opened and Yuudachi passed out entirely, Murasame striding in.

"Good morning, everyone!" she chirped, waving her arm - which, incidentally, caused the stench to ratchet up a notch. By now, Samidare's and Harusame's eyes were watering.

"What... on earth..." Samidare groaned through the hands covering her nose.

"How long has it been since you took a bath?" Harusame bluntly asked.

"A week. I've also been exercising a ton."

"Why?!"

"A new weapon!" Murasame declared. "A biological weapon that can fell any Abyssal!"

"You watched Dragon Ball recently, didn't you?"/"Yeah, it sure felled Yuudachi, alright."

And then she slumped over. "Could you guys lay off the sarcasm for _two seconds?"  
_  
"No," Samidare and Harusame chorused.

"Heh. I'll show you..."

Both destroyers took a step back at the look on Murasame's face when she raised her head. "I'll show all of you! This will work, and send the Abyssals fleeing!" And then the moment was gone, and the destroyer reached into her pocket. "Also, give me _some_ credit for thinking ahead. I got some gas masks for protection."

"Yay," Harusame droned while Samidare slipped a mask on Yuudachi.

~o~

"Oh, come on!"

The sortie had gone off without a hitch once the gas masks were put on. And then they'd run into their first Abyssals. Submarine Abyssals. Submarine Abyssals that were wearing _gas masks._

"That's just _not fair!"_ Murasame continued to whine.

"Just let me handle this, poi," Yuudachi said, rolling her eyes. Her black aura sprang to life around her, causing the Abyssals to nervously step back. "And for God's sake, take a bath when we get back, poi!"


	311. Rule 3041

**Rule 3041. No, you can't use the professional-grade fireworks - which Logistics is REALLY questioning about - that you brought along as improvised shells!  
**  
"There's no end to these guys!" Des Moines groaned. She aimed her guns, pulled the mental "trigger" - and as the salvo was sent downrange was helpfully informed by her fairies that she was officially out of 8" shells. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"What?" Newport News called.

"I'm out of 8"!"

A beat. "Are you _serious?_ Are you sure you're not just out of 8" AP?"

"Yeah, I'm sure!" Des Moines fired back. Metaphorically, of course. "Look at me not shooting anything, hello!"

The gunfire coming from Salem's position on the line abruptly ceased. "I'm out of ammo!" she announced a moment later.

"Fuck's sake!" Newport News spat. "Phelps, have the carriers gotten back to you yet?!"

"This is the last batch, apparently!" the destroyer leader shouted back.

"Well, great! That's great! Doesn't help us against this bunch!"

"This bunch" being a pack of Abyssal heavy cruisers, backed up by a strong destroyer escort. This was the _fourth_ such group the Des Moines sisters and their own destroyer screen had faced in as many hours, and while they'd smashed up the first two no problem and only had minor problems related to throwing HC instead of AP with third, the fourth seemed like it might well be their doom. That was the one downside of their guns: ammo could run out very quickly if they weren't careful. Or if the Abyss proved willing to throw away three times the tonnage just to sink them.

Honestly, that was just _such_ an Abyssal thing to do.

"Y'all need to practice better fire discipline," Des Moines declared - right as her gunfire went silent, too. "Nuts."

Gunfire crashed in around them, more accurate now that their opponents weren't under fire themselves. The trio threw themselves into frantic maneuvers and trusted in their armor to save them from any actual hits until they could come up with a plan.

"Hmm, well, we could throw every destroyer we have against them," Des Moines suggested. "Clear out the screen so we can punch the heavy cruisers or something."

Newport News glared at her sister. "That's a terrible plan!"

"Thank you, ma'am!" Phelps said.

"Look how thick that screen is! We don't have enough destroyers!"

"Er..."

"Or, since this is the last group, I could try something I've been keeping reserve," Salem cut in. Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out fireworks. Lots and lots of very large, probably very illegal fireworks. Of the rocket variety.

"Uh, Salem?" Des Moines began, only for Newport News to grab her shoulder.

"Shut up and get ready to sprint in."

Oblivious to the conversation near her, Salem pulled out a match, and dramatically struck it on one of her turrets, putting the open flame to the fuses. This immediately provided an outpouring of sparks, flame, and smoke that rapidly engulfed the cruiser.

"Ack! Wait, shit, this wasn't what I- wagh!"

That last was provoked by the fuses burning out and thus launching the rockets, which engulfed Salem in even _more_ fire. Des Moines and Newport News had spent the intervening seconds building up steam pressure, and so roared out the gate as soon as the fireworks were let loose.

Said fireworks reached the Abyssals first, and detonated in a cacophony of noise, bright lights, and explosive concussion. The end result? One hell of a discombobulated Abyssal fleet, one that had no answer to the two remaining American cruisers wading into them with fist and 5" gunfire. The destroyers charging in shortly thereafter was just salt in the wound.

It took about fifteen minutes of frantic fighting, but the Abyssals were routed and Des Moines and Newport News got a chance to check on Salem. And, as it turned out, get some practice at holding their laughter in.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Salem grumbled as she brushed soot off of her. It was a futile effort; soot covered every square inch of her, including her hair, which had been plumed into an impressive afro. "Lesson learned: fireworks make poor improvised shells."


	312. Rule 3044

**Rule 3044: Shouting "I CAST SUMMON BIGGER FISH" is not a tactic in any form or shape.  
**  
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! AGAIN?!"

Des Moines had a right to be angry. Three days after running out of ammunition against four successive waves of Abyssal heavy cruisers, it was happening again. Currently, wave two was cresting the horizon, with a new twist on the old idea: a Ta-class battleship smack dab in the center of the formation.

"Never fear, I have a plan!" Salem declared.

"Salem, no," her sisters chorused.

"Salem, yes!" Reaching into her sleeve, the cruiser pulled out a... wand? "I've been doing some studying, and I think I've got a spell perfect for this situation!" Pointing the wooden stick at the Abyssals, she declared, "SUMMON BIGGER FISH!"

Nothing happened. Well, the Ta sent in some ranging shots that fell short, but otherwise, nothing happened.

"Right, I'm going to see if the carriers have a strike spotted they can lend us," Newport News said.

"And I'll see whether the battleships are engaged or not," Des Moines added. "If not, we can lure this bunch into gun range. In the meantime, we should be moving _away_ from the murderball heading our way."

That finally shook Salem out of her shock. "Wait, no, let me try again!" Salem pleaded. "This can work, I promise!"

"Look, even if it does work, well... you know what they say: summoning a monster to destroy a monster still, at the end of the day, leaves you with a monster problem."

"NO ONE SAYS THAT!"

 _"I_ say that!" Des Moines practically snarled. "And as division leader _and_ big sister, what I say _goes_. We're leaving!"

"Fine..." Salem grumbled.

~o~

New Jersey groaned and let her palm impact her face. Seriously. How was she unlucky enough to have beached whales interrupt not one, but _two_ beach trips?

With that in mind, she gave the trio of Johnston, Hoel, and Heermann her best stern glare. "I'm going to go call San Diego. Now remember: no blowing up the whale like last time!"

"We won't!" the destroyers chorused, Johnston muttering, "It's still alive, anyway..."

Satisfied that no shenanigans were going to happen, New Jersey left to go make that call. Really, she should have known better. Even when shipgirls weren't planning shenanigans, the universe would set it up so that shenanigans happened regardless.

In this case, the universe's intervention took the form of a Ma-class submarine poking her head above the surface and firing her 12" gun at the businesses lining the beach. The shell impacted an In-N-Out burger before detonating, reducing the restaurant to splinters and knocking over several neighboring buildings as well.

Heermann gasped as tourists screamed and ran and locals sighed and sat down to wait. "That bitch!" Hoel snarled. "Johnston, what should we-! Johnston?"

Dreading what they would find, Heermann and Hoel looked down on the beach to find Johnston grasping the beached whale by its tail. With a cry of "SUMMON BIGGER FISH, BITCH!", the destroyer hurled the poor whale out to sea, where it caught the Abyssal by the head and bowled her over in its path to the sea.

Heermann gaped. Hoel facepalmed. And Johnston, seemingly realizing what she'd done, sprinted away, screaming "I don't wanna get killed by Greenpeaaaaaace!"

She didn't get very far before smashing into New Jersey's abs, knocking herself flat on her ass - and out cold, incidentally. One blonde eyebrow went up, and the battleship turned to her other two destroyers.

"Anyone want to tell me what that was about?" she said. "And Greenpeace?" Her eyes widened as she realized what was missing from this picture. "Shit. Where's the whale?!"

Hoel and Heermann pointed out to sea.

"Oh, goddammit..."


	313. Rule 3045

**Rule 3045: Brunswick is to stop requisitioning depth charges. The squid are not out to get you. Probably.  
**  
Saipan frowned as she looked over the fleet's ammunition supplies. Nothing jumped out at her, they weren't going to run out of ammo anytime soon even if they began expending it at Gulf War rates, and yet... something was nagging at her. Something was off.

Sighing, the carrier leaned back and rubbed her eyes, before going back at it. There was a discrepancy somewhere, she knew it. Maybe in the ASW weapons...?

It took far too much cross-referencing, but finally Saipan spotted what was bugging her: the requisition rate for depth charges wasn't matching the reported expenditure. On a fleet-wide basis, it was a small difference, but it still merited looking into. Leaning back, Saipan prepared herself for a long search.

Fifteen minutes later, she had her answer: patrol frigate Brunswick. A gap of a couple thousand depth charges may not have been much on a fleetwide basis, but for one shipgirl... yeah. Time to get to the bottom of this, and that meant finding the shipgirl in question and interrogating her.

A grin widened Saipan's mouth. This was going to be fun.

~o~

 _'This isn't fun. At all.'  
_  
"REEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Saipan caught a depth charge, and only barely had time to _carefully_ put it down before Brunswick hurled another one at her, screeching like a banshee with a throat infection.

"The squid aren't out to get you!" she desperately pleaded, not that she expected it to work any better than the last three times she'd tried that line. "Put the depth charges down!"

"Never! I've seen those Japanese cartoons!" Oh, hey, something new. Saipan made a mental note to find out who was showing _tentacle hentai_ to the frigates and hurt them. Badly. "Those Japanese shipsluts may be fine with that, _but I'm not!"  
_  
"Brunswick, most Japanese shipgirls are very straightlaced and-"

"Liar! What about that one with the microskirt and thong?!"

Saipan didn't answer that one, because really, what could she say? That Shimakaze _didn't_ exist? Instead, she glanced worriedly at some of the older depth charges, whose explosives she just _knew_ were sweating. It was one of the reasons she was forgoing subtlety right now.

"Alright, I didn't want to do this, but put those down before you set off _all_ the depth charges!"

"Lying again! I know how depth charges work, they need to be pressure-fuzed!" Brunswick gave one of the depth charges a kick - and to Saipan's horror, it was one of the ones that had been sweating. "See? Nothing to-"

*CHA-BOOF!*

~o~

Admiral Briggs picked himself up off the floor and dusted drywall off of his uniform. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, walking over to the window. Rising over the housing for the frigates was a plume of smoke, and he had a sinking feeling that the building was gone.

"Saipan!" he barked. No answer. "Saipa-! Oh, wait, she went to investigate something." He paled as he remembered _what_ she was investigating. "Shit!"


	314. Rule 3053

**Rule 3053. God damnit people, it was a movie! Stop trying to convince the destroyers that it was a documentary and that we need to rescue Matt Damon off of Mars!  
**  
Showing movies to shipgirls was always a risky proposition. Quite a few shipgirls had trouble telling fiction from reality, though none of it quite beat Milwaukee going on a fit of computer-smashing to avoid the machines from taking over and plugging everyone into the Matrix. The Martian, grounded as it was in very real science, seemed fairly harmless on that front.

In hindsight, Admiral Briggs mused as the third explosion in as many hours rocked the base, that was almost certainly an invitation for trouble.

Granted, that was intuition in itself, given that he didn't actually know what was causing those explosions, and for all he knew it was entirely unrelated (goodness knows there were enough random explosions on shipgirl bases), but his gut had only steered him wrong once, and there was no mechanical bull in sight. So. The explosions were related to last night's showing of The Martian. How would that lead to lots of explosions?

The answer came to him like an oncoming freight train, and he almost wished he hadn't asked. A rocket was the obvious culprit, and that meant shipgirls who weren't Phoenix handling _fucking rocket fuel._ Some of the most volatile, high-energy stuff around. Oh, and he mostly had destroyers, destroyer escorts, and frigates in his force. The idea of _that_ bunch handling rocket fuel threatened to send him into a panic-induced catatonia.

But he was an Admiral, and so he shoved it down. He had more important things to do, like run through his mental rolodex of shipgirls he could maybe set to investigating this. Above all, they'd need to have a way with destroyers, and be able to talk them out of their more daft ideas. And it couldn't be Saipan, she was still recovering from that depth charge incident.

"Admiral? Are you going to do something about all those explosions?"

Briggs eyed Philadelphia. Well, in the absence of all that, she'd do.

"Yes, actually. I need to you to go to where the explosions are happening and convince whoever's there that we don't need to rescue Matt Damon off of Mars."

The look Philadelphia gave him in response was entirely uncalled for, in his opinion, but she went and did it anyway.

~o~

Philadelphia balefully eyed the pile of scrap steel and piping that was supposed to be a space rocket, and mentally debated what to do for Admiral Briggs as an apology.

"So let me see if I've got this right," she said. "This is supposed to be a rocket to get you guys to Mars."

"That's right!" Broome cheerfully answered.

"And once you get to Mars, you're going to rescue Matt Damon and bring him home."

"Yup!"

A pause. Another glance at the rocket. "You're braver than I thought."

"Aww, thanks!" Broome said, rubbing the back of her head and blushing.

*CLONK!*

And now squatting down and clutching the _top_ of her head.

"That wasn't a compliment!" Philadelphia snapped. "Now get this damn thing safely disassembled before it-!"

A cry of panic from the destroyers working on the rocket caught the cruiser's attention, and she looked up just in time to see the ramshackle instrument tip over.

"... explodes."

*KA-BOOM!*


	315. Rule 3055

**Rule 3055. To all the Fireproof Shipgirls (Especially Enterprise): Setting yourself on fire and going at flank speed towards the enemy then calling yourself a 'Fireship' is forbidden. Unless you want Yamato to teach you a lesson.  
**  
Yamashiro screamed as shells landed around her. Ise was running around screaming, and had somehow gotten her head stuck in a bucket, though that didn't stop her from firing with impossible accuracy. Fuso had taken a torpedo hit and was already limping back. This left Hyuuga the lone battleship against the Abyssal quartet that had gotten too close to Japan for comfort, waiting for support that should've been there five minutes ago.

Speaking of which...

"Where's that damn support?!" she howled.

"Right here!"

Risking a glance over her shoulder, Hyuuga managed to see Enterprise sprint past her at flank speed - and thus _also_ see that Enterprise was on fire. Again.

"Hold it," she said, reaching out and grabbing the carrier by the collar. "Enterprise, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I'm a fireship! As in, I'm on fire, and a ship, and-"

"Okay, sorry I asked..." Hyuuga groaned. "Look, leaving aside that this is breaking the rules - again - what good is charging at them while on fire going to do?"

"I am going to hug them," Enterprise declared. "And then they will be on fire, too."

That was such a patently daft idea that Hyuuga's brain temporarily short-circuited. Once it finished rebooting, the situation had changed: now Yamato, who was _supposed_ to be in Yokosuka, had taken Enterprise off her hands and was currently holding her lover's ear and a fire extinguisher still puffing out carbon dioxide.

"Dammit, Yamato, this was gonna work!" Enterprise was saying.

"I don't care if it would work. You're not doing it," Yamato replied, her calm voice at complete odds with the vein throbbing on her cheek.

"Hey, uh, don't want to interrupt the _totally justified_ angry lecture," Hyuuga interrupted, indicating the Abyssals. "But Yams, while you're here, would you mind shooting those guys?"

Yamato considered that, and then dropped Enterprise. "Yes, I suppose I shall. It will be good stress relief."

As Yamato steamed off, Enterprise sidled up to Hyuuga, rubbing her aching ear. "You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"Hey, be grateful," Hyuuga replied grumpily. "I got you a bit of a reprieve, didn't I?"

"That's just going to make things worse when we get back."

[AUGH, WHY?!]

Battleship and carrier winced as Yamato went to town on the Abyssals.

"See what I mean?"


	316. Rule 3056

**Rule 3056. Enterprise, get some fireproof clothing.  
**  
Enterprise stared at her bank balance. _'This... how... okay, I'm going to close my eyes, and when I open them, the balance is going to be back to normal it's not back to normal. Why is it not back to normal?!'_ Gritting her teeth, she checked the purchases, and flushed at the sheer amount of _clothing_ she'd had to buy recently. _'Oh. Right.'  
_  
After all, her clothes weren't fireproof, which meant they tended to get ruined whenever she lit herself on fire. For once, Enterprise considered the possibility that maybe she _should_ stop doing that.

 _'Nah.'  
_  
Still, the clothing thing was a problem. What to do, what to do...

As Enterprise pondered that question, her hand brushed her mouse, prompting it to first open a new tab and then hit the 'I'm feeling lucky' tab on Google. Distracted as she was, it took Enterprise a bit to see what was on the screen. When she did, she nearly fell out of her chair.

"What the-?!" she screeched, catching herself on her desk. The website, looking like a throwback to 2003, was liberally festooned with nude pictures of her. Well. Not quite nude. Usually she was wearing the scorched remnants of one outfit or another. Oh, and they were always upward-angled shots. "Lewdmarines. I should've known." Slowly, she glanced towards the view counter visible in the bottom right corner - and nearly fell off her chair again. "A hundred million views?!"

"Oh, honey?"

Enterprise froze.

"Would you mind explaining this?"

Enterprise slowly turned around. Yamato stood in the door, laptop in hand and the same website on its screen, a kind smile on her face and a vein pulsing on her forehead. Frantically, the carrier tried to think of an explanation.

"Blame the lewdmarines?"

Nothing. Shit.

"Uh, I'll talk to the Yuubaris about some fireproof clothing?"

Yamato sighed, her expression softening. "Well, it's a start..." she muttered.

~o~

"Well, there's fireproof, and then there's _fireproof."  
_  
"Like, a firefighter's outfit is only fire- _resistant._ It's just tough cloth, and if you keep lighting yourself on fire it's not gonna stand up to the heat."

"The _really_ high-end stuff uses vacuum-deposited aluminum, but if we do the engineering right we could probably work out something with a flexible teflon coat and asbestos underlayer."

"And that, short of the really nasty fluorine compounds, is gonna be as fireproof as we can make it."

"So. What do you think?"

Enterprise blinked at the two Yuubaris, who were looking at her with expectant eyes. "Er, I really only want something that won't burn off of me. Not a full-body suit."

"Hmm, tricky," Yuubari muttered.

"But not impossible!" the other Yuubari declared. "Come back in a few days, and we'll have something fireproof _and_ stylish!"

"And if we're not done by then, it's because we're talking to Naka about proper fashions."

"Right..."

~o~

A few days passed. Enterprise avoided setting herself on fire. And the universe, for once, was kind enough not to force the issue. And so, she was able to enter the Yuubaris' lab with her head held high.

And the minute she opened the door a bit of liquid flame splashed on her chest.

"Oh, goddammit," Enterprise muttered as the flames licked at her clothes and body.

"Shit fuckmothering cunts!" Yuubari screeched, tearing at her hair. "Yuubari! Get the suit, quick!"

"What's-"

"Enterprise is here, she's _on fire_ , and it's our fault!"

A beat.

"I'm on it! Fuck, of all the times to be working on better napalm!"

"Better _what_ now?" Enterprise asked.

"No time!" Yuubari said, grabbing the carrier by the shoulders and steering her into the lab. "Let's get you in that suit and not on fire anymore, okay? Okay. Before Yamato comes and _punches out all our blood!"_

A beat.

"Are... you alright?" Enterprise asked.

Yuubari's eye twitched. "Never better!"


	317. Rule 3065

**Rule 3065. Whoever keeps leaving behind bread bowls with hidden "surprises" in it, cease and desist.  
**  
A small crowd balefully eyed the line of bread bowls set on a table in the mess. While not as experienced in the great deceptions that accompanied left-out snacks as the Japanese were, the San Diego crowd weren't idiots, either. Nobody wanted to be the first one to touch the bread bowls.

"Hang on a minute," Louisiana suddenly spoke up. "They're _bread bowls._ We can crack 'em open and see what's inside. Better than standing around waiting for someone stupid enough to try and eat them."

"You're right. And so nice of you to volunteer!" Reno agreed.

"Dammit!"

After a short argument - and word of advice, never get in an argument with destroyers, you can't win - Louisiana nervously approached the bread bowls. Slowly, gingerly, she reached out and lifted the top of the far bowl, revealing-

Spit. Regular spit, tobacco spit, chewing gum, and what looked to be a few teeth, even. Even at arm's length, it smelled horrible. Even at arm's length, the grossness of the bowl was a palpable force, a greasy presence in the air that reminded Louisiana of a vomit trough at a mesquite BBQ-eating contest. Yes, she knew what that was like. Damn Reno - the cruiser, not the city, the city was nice - for dragging her to one.

She almost slammed the top back on the bowl, only to slow at the last minute to avoid squashing the thing. Nobody wanted that. She eyed the next four breadbowls. Oh, this was going to _suck_.

The next bread bowl didn't assault her with a foul stench. That was because it _instead_ assaulted her with a spring-launched cream pie. The pan fell to the ground after a couple seconds, allowing Louisiana to lick some of the filling.

"Oh, marshamallow!" she said, licking more enthusiastically. Fairies popped out and began scraping away the marshmallow creme, carting it into her. Not waiting for them to finish, Louisiana moved on to the next bread bowl.

This was a mistake.

When the battleship opened the next breadbowl, a possum, furious for having been stuffed in there for so long and attracted to the sugar smell of the marshmallow, leaped up and latched onto Louisiana's face. Much screaming ensued.

"Hang on, Louisiana, I'm coming to help!" Radford declared. Unfortunately, it took a minute for the destroyer to chase down the battleship, and then another two to get her to stand still. Taking the possum off her face was a ten-second affair.

The sight of her freckled face all scratched up aroused even more sympathy from the crowd, even from Reno. "Maybe someone else should take over," she offered.

"No!" Louisiana snarled. "I started this, so I'm gonna finish it!" Stomping over to the last bread bowl, she practically ripped the top off.

*CHOW!*

And then it exploded.

For a long moment, Louisiana stood in place, shoulders shaking and scorched scraps of sourdough bread floating down around her. And then, she spun on her heel, declared "SAN FRANCISCO'S GONNA DIE!", and then stormed off.

Naturally, San Francisco arrived not five seconds after Louisiana left. "So, anyone mind telling me why Louisiana just stormed by me covered in scratches?"

Radford pointed to the possum still chilling on the floor. Everyone else pointed towards the bread bowls. Frowning, San Francisco moved unerringly to the one Louisiana hadn't touched, opening it. Everyone braced. But instead of some nasty surprise, there was just steam.

Still frowning, San Francisco re-topped that bread bowl and walked over to the one on the far end stuffed with spit, opening it. Then she closed it, and turned around, a volcanic expression on her face.

"Whoever defiled the bread bowls shall die!" And with that, she stormed off in the opposite direction of Louisiana.

The crowd was silent. And then Salt Lake City spoke up.

"I'm getting my seaplanes up. Who wants pictures?"

Everyone raised their hands.


	318. Rule 3067

**Rule 3067. While we get that you want to compliment their abilities, telling Juneau and The Sullivans that they have the strength of five men is probably the wrong way to go about it.  
**  
Sendai took a deep breath, and braced herself, before knocking on Jintsuu's door. "Yo, sis!" she shouted.

"What?" Jintsuu shouted back.

"Admiral needs you for an emergency sortie!"

Silence. Then...

"No way, uh-uh! I've been planning this date with Honolulu for _months_ , and I'm not giving it up just because some Abyssal yahoos are poking around Honshu!"

"Dammit, woman, this is for the Greater Good!"

 _"Screw_ the Greater Good!"

The sheer vehemence of the response had Sendai stumbling back in surprise. Well. Clearly that route wasn't going to work. Now to do this the hard way.

"Alright, I'm coming in!"

~o~

Juneau clambered up onto the pier just behind Honolulu, finally relaxing. No more Abyssals, and no sudden yet inevitable betrayal from the Japanese submarines. In fact, she could even look the shipgirl greeting them in the eye without flinching! Though that may have been more because of the bandages she was wearing on her face.

"-and so she should be ready soon-ish," the shipgirl was explaining. "In the meantime, I need to ask you for a favor..."

"Let me guess," Honolulu said wryly. "Desdiv 16 needs to sortie but now doesn't have a flotilla leader. Mostly because my boo reacted poorly to you asking."

"First of all, please don't call my sister your 'boo' anywhere I can hear it," the Japanese shipgirl said. Ohhh, who was she? "Second, yeah. Really glad Juneau came along, she's probably better suited for the job than most of your light cruisers. Seriously, you guys build 'em big."

"Standing right here, you know," Juneau cut in. "And I'd be _perfectly_ happy to take on some destroyers for a day. Which ones?"

"Well, there's Yukikaze, and Tokitsukaze, and Hatsukaze, and Amatsu-"

Juneau frowned as Sendai cut herself off and Honolulu facepalmed.

"Oh, this is gonna be a disaster..."

~o~

Amatsukaze balefully eyed their temporary flotilla leader. Memories of that crazy Friday the 13th were hazy for all involved, but the destroyer was pretty sure that she'd torpedoed their flotilla leader at some point. The cold stares Juneau kept sending her way were a clue, too. Hopefully, they could wrap this up fast and get back to Yokosuka and ditch the scary American.

The eight Abyssal destroyers that suddenly popped up dashed that hope quite nicely.

The quartet of destroyers braced for combat, only for Juneau to steam in front of them. "Don't worry, girls, I got this." She leveled her guns at the Abyssals - Amatsukaze belatedly realizing just how _many_ there were - and then opened fire.

It was like a machine gun. 12 guns, each firing nearly twenty rounds per minute - nothing without armor could survive a barrage like that, especially not with American fire control backing it up. And Amatsukaze wasn't the only one thinking that.

"Wow, she's got the strength of five men!" Tokitsukaze declared.

Suddenly, the barrage stopped, and Juneau turned around to give the hapless destroyer the worst glare Amatsukaze had ever seen since Shimakaze found Akigumo's initial entry into the 'Shimakaze-kun' genre. Amatsukaze, Yukikaze, and Hatsukaze immediately had to scramble to intercept the remaining Abyssal destroyers, leaving Tokitsukaze at Juneau's mercy.

"Let me tell you about I-26..."

Amatsukaze shuddered. Good luck, Tokitsukaze.


	319. Rule 3072

**Rule 3072. Please stop confusing William D. Porter, Porter (DD-356), Porter (DD-800), and the newly arrived - and welcomed - Porter (DDG-78) with each other. All four of them are getting tired of being lumped together based on their name, surname in Willie's case.  
**  
The door to O'Bannon's Irish Pub slammed open, and the proprietor raised an eyebrow as USS Porter, lead of her class, stormed in, steam leaking out of her ears. The destroyer angrily flopped onto one of the stools and barked, "Whiskey, straight up!"

O'Bannon grabbed a bottle and a glass, and was just about to pour when Porter snatched the bottle out of her hands and took a deep swig. Her other eyebrow joined its sibling.

"Bad day?"

"Y'wanna know what I was greeted with as I pulled into this hellhole?" Porter practically snarled. "A big ol' banner, saying 'Don't shoot, we're Tories!' And everyone was on eggshells around me, like I was gonna suddenly trip and cover them in... in... in camel spit or something!" She took another swig of the whiskey.

O'Bannon sighed, somehow feeling responsible for this. But, as her rational side pointed out, if anyone had mentioned this around her, they'd be getting a potato-based beating, and she hadn't had to do that. So this was just... latent, or something, and so not her fault.

"Well, that's annoying. And stupid," O'Bannon replied.

"I know!" Porter wailed, taking another swig. "We don't even look that similar!"

True. Where William D. Porter had straw-colored hair done in braids, a shotgun spread of freckles, glasses, and something of a resting bully face, Porter had darker hair cut short and nothing adorning a sharper, generally more mature face. Also, Porter was an inch shorter and larger in the chest department compared to the Fletcher sharing her name.

"Ugh, that does it," Porter groused. "You have a computer with a webcam I can borrow?"

O'Bannon was fairly certain that she should lie and say no and simply ply Porter with more alcohol to cover up said lie. But she was annoyed on behalf of her sister and her reputation, so nuts to that.

"Sure. Lemme just put a sign up out front..."

~o~

The video finished loading, throwing up a picture of USS William D. Porter. _"This is William D. Porter, the famed derp destroyer."_ After a transition straight out of 2006 Youtube, the picture shifted to USS Porter. _"This is USS Porter, lead ship of the Porter class, and an absolutely normal destroyer shipgirl."_ Another transition, and the words "KNOW THE DIFFERENCE" were slapped on the screen in big block letters.

Admiral Graham chuckled, copied the video link, and dropped it in an email with "send all" in the address line. There. That should do it.

~o~

The door to O'Bannon's Irish Pub slammed open, and the proprietor raised an eyebrow as USS Porter, of the Gearing class, stormed in, steam leaking out of her ears. The destroyer flopped angrily onto one of the bar stools and barked, "Keg of Guinness!"

Bending down to retrieve the keg in question, O'Bannon asked, "Got mistaken for Willy D. by the Brits?"

Porter didn't answer immediately, instead tearing open the keg once it was placed on the bar and then chugging down a good chunk of it. "Fucking spaghettis!" she shouted. "I show up in Taranto, relieving Sarsfield, and what do they do? Beg me to spare their gardens!" Grabbing the keg again, Porter chugged down more beer.

"Fucking spaghettis indeed," O'Bannon nodded sagely.

"I know!" Porter wailed. "We don't even look alike!"

Much like the older Porter, this Porter sported darker hair and a more mature, if softer, face. She was also... thicker than Willy D.

"Well, if you want them to stop, I've got an idea," O'Bannon said, grinning. "Lemme just get my laptop."

~o~

The video finished loading, throwing up a picture of USS William D. Porter. _"This is William D. Porter, the famed derp destroyer."_ After a transition straight out of 2007 Youtube, the picture shifted to USS Porter. _"This is USS Porter, lead ship of the Porter class, and an absolutely normal destroyer shipgirl."_ Another transition, and the other Porter popped up. _"This is_ also _USS Porter, the successor to the last one."_ One more transition, and the words "KNOW THE DIFFERENCE" popped up on screen.

Admiral Russo frowned. Somehow, she knew this was aimed at her shipgirls. And sadly, this seemed like exactly the sort of thing they would do. Copying the video address, Russo pasted the link in an email and then hit "send all".

~o~

The door to O'Bannon's Irish Pub slammed open, and the proprietor resisted the urge to scream and dive under her own bar as William D. Porter stormed in, steam leaking out of her ears.

 _"Derp destroyer?!"  
_  
The urge came back, and O'Bannon didn't fight it.


	320. Rule 3074

**Rule 3074. I don't know how you two did it but get Kongou out of that bunnysuit. Admiral Goto is getting distracted.  
**  
"Teitokuuuuu!"

Admiral Goto jerked up at the piteous wail his girlfriend blasted in his ears, and froze at the sight he was greeted with.

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't stop her!" Ooyodo apologized.

"I told you, this is an emergency!" Kongo shouted. "Teitoku, you've gotta help me take this off!"

"This" was the standard bunnygirl outfit - fishnet stockings, high-heeled shoes, bunny-ear headband, cufflinks, bowtied collar, and the strapless leotard - except in bright orange rather than the classic black. It was a vision of loveliness Admiral Goto rarely saw outside the bedroom, which left him utterly paralyzed.

Well, until he heard the magic words "help me take this off", coupled with Kongo accidentally using her arms to push her breasts together. A gleam glinted in his eyes, his slack-jawed mouth tightened into a lecherous smile. There was no thunk from something hitting the underside of his desk, but it was a close call.

"UOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!"

Gripping his desk, Goto, in one fluid motion, stood and flipped it towards the far wall, ruffling Kongo's bunny ears as it passed overhead and sending Ooyodo scrambling out of the way. And then, Goto was on Kongo, tugging at the bunny suit.

It wasn't budging.

"It's not coming off?" Goto growled, earning him an annoyed glare from his lover.

"Yes, that's why I _asked for help!"_

Snarling, Goto leaned back up, took in a deep breath, and _flexed_. His shirt and jacket immediately burst into pieces, and Ooyodo, just recently back on her feet, immediately had to suppress a nosebleed. A nosebleed that only worsened as Goto went back to tugging at that bunny costume.

"I'll, ah, just go now..." Ooyodo said, shuffling out the door. "Get some tissues, all that..."

~o~

Three hours later, Ooyodo had gone through half a box, and the two were _still_ at it, though they'd given up on tearing off the outfit a long time ago. Instead, they had discovered that certain... parts of the outfit could be shifted out of the way, and were now trying to slowly shimmy it off. Very slowly. With many interruptions. The poor secretary ship who had to listen to them simply counted her lucky stars that nobody had needed to come in to talk to Goto that whole time.

Unfortunately, then the _other_ three Kongo sisters showed up, dragging Uzuki behind them.

"Alright," Kirishima said, shoving the destroyer up to the front. "Tell Ooyodo what you told us."

Fidgeting, Uzuki took a moment to compose herself. "So I woke up today, and-"

Kirishima's fist came crashing down on the destroyer's head, and she staggered back, "awawawa"ing and clutching the growing goose egg.

"Without the extraneous details, please."

Sniffling cutely, Uzuki started again. "Okay, so I was walking down the street to go buy some candy when I saw this mysterious shop that totally wasn't there yesterday, pyon. So naturally, I went in."

"Naturally," Ooyodo deadpanned.

"So there was a ton of stuff inside! But you probably don't care about that, pyon, so I'm going to skip that and just say that I bought the bunny suit there. And when I left the whole store just went poof!" A plaintive look plastered itself on Uzuki's face. "I thought it would be a cute gift, pyon! I didn't think it would be bad, pyon!"

"Tell her what the shopkeeper looked like," Hiei growled.

Uzuki flinched. "Well, chalk skin, white hair-"

"That sounds like an Abyssal," Ooyodo remarked.

"It _was_ an Abyssal," Hiei replied as Uzuki hung her head in shame. "And now, our sister is out there, somewhere, in a bunny costume she can't take off!"

"By the way, why do you have tissues stuffed up your nose?" Haruna asked.

A sudden load, animalistic moan drifted out of Admiral Goto's office, followed by a cry of "YES, RIGHT THERE, TEITOKU!". Haruna tilted her head in confusion, Hiei went beet red, Kirishima raised an eyebrow, and Uzuki...

"Huh. That sounds like Kisaragi in the middle of the night."

"That's why," Ooyodo deadpanned. "And Uzuki, just so you know, thanks to that bunny outfit we're going to be down our Admiral until this whole mess clears up."

"I'm sorry!" the destroyer wailed.

Another moan came from the office. Hiei immediately began to steer Haruna out the door, Uzuki trailing despondently behind. Kirishima stuck around briefly, eyeing the door.

"No, I'm not letting you peep in on them," Ooyodo said.

Slowly, and with great dignity, Kirishima left, though the secretary ship couldn't help but notice she was walking just a _tad_ bowlegged. Sighing, Ooyodo sat back and thanked whoever was listening that she didn't have to deal with that.

Then another moan ripped through the walls, and she was right back to wishing someone would drop by.

"Just get that damn thing off, you animals," she muttered.


	321. Rule 3084

**Rule 3084. To all ship girls with sufficient officer ranks and above, yes when you are asked to attend official functions it is considered mandatory to come. And yes some of those fancy parties will have you do ballroom dancing, for PR and diplomatic purposes. If you need to lessons we have our own Hiryuu to teach you.  
**  
Admiral Goto sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Another official function. Great. He flipped through the invititations. Fubuki, naturally, as well as Yamato. He and Yonehara would be going, which meant Kongo and Ashigara, too. The usual suspects. He flipped to the last one, and his eyebrows rose. Zuikaku. That was a surprise. After the third time she'd turned down an invitation, they'd stopped coming. And legally he couldn't inflict the same suf- er, order her to go and not offend the still-important people who threw these things.

Hang on.

Goto quickly retrieved the carrier's dossier and scanned it over, before grinning. Yup, she'd been recently promoted to captain so, legally, she could run the First Air Fleet when it was assembled. The amount of salt from Kaga when that had happened the other week had been _legendary_. Regardless, that meant she was now sufficiently highly-ranked to make this appearance mandatory. Perfect.

Or, well, not perfect, as reading further revealed. There was one fly in the ointment: this function would have ballroom dancing. Zuikaku didn't know ballroom dancing. Neither, for that matter, did most of his shipgirls. Luckily, he had someone who _did_ know and could be coerced into teaching it.

Pressing the intercom button on his desk, he said, "Ooyodo, I've got more invitations to send out. Also, have Hiryu come to my office."

 _"Yes, sir."  
_  
His secretary ship retrieved the invitations shortly thereafter, leaving Goto to get through some more of his paperwork. It took about thirty minutes for Hiryu to arrive.

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?"

"Yes. Zuikaku needs a crash course in ballroom dancing, and ASAP. The function's in-"

"Whoa, hang on," Hiryu interrupted. "I think you have the wrong girl. I'm as ballroom-illiterate as the rest of the fleet."

"Uh-huh," Goto said, reaching under his desk for something. "And I suppose this report about an elegantly dressed woman with modified rigging extensively training in all of Tokyo's 8 Dance halls, including the Florida, is just a fever dream of Aoba's or something."

The report thudded on his desk, and he was gratified to see Hiryu looking resigned to this fact.

"Zuikaku, huh? Well, could be worse. When do you want me to start?"

"Immediately-"

A message pinged on his IM app, and he read it over.

"Correction. As soon as Fubuki can coax her into going at least semi-willingly."

~o~

"No! I refuse!"

"Dammit, Zuikaku, this is part of being an officer!"

"Then demote me!"

"No! And if you try and get yourself busted down _deliberately_ , we're gonna do everything _but_ demote you!"

Finally, Fubuki let go of Zuikaku, unable to overcome the carrier's superior horsepower, and fell panting onto her butt. The carrier, for her part, didn't let go of the post she had been grabbing. With that in mind, Fubuki wracked her brains for some way to convince Zuikaku.

Ah. That would do it.

"Don't you want to see Ashigara and Kongo make utter fools of themselves?" she asked. "And also see Yamato try not to tear into them?"

Zuikaku paused, and looked over her shoulder. "I can bring a guest?"

"Yes."

The grin that spread over Zuikaku's face was alarming, but at this point Fubuki was past caring.

"Let me wear my dress uniform instead of a gown, and you've got a deal."

~o~

Fubuki stepped down from the stage, adjusting her dress uniform and the many medals that decorated it. A new one had been added at this function, for saving a diplomat's ship entirely by accident three days prior.

Her part in this done, she made a beeline for Zuikaku, who was standing near the drinks looking smug.

"Where's Kaga?" Fubuki asked, though with no real urgency.

Taking a sip of her drink, Zuikaku pointed across the hall to several stuffed-suit politicians - and one very drunk Kaga visibly berating them. Fubuki felt a smile creep onto her face.

"Definitely worth it."

"TEITOKU!"

"HONEY!"

"WARGH!"

"That's worth it, too."


	322. Rule 3091

**Rule 3091: While Canadian shipgirls can trade their 'cool looking scratch and sniff money' for bills of equal numerical value to other girls from other countries we ask that said other girls be aware of exchange rates.  
**  
HMCS Crescent balefully eyed the plush pug in the window of FAO Schwartz, downtown Manhattan. It would've been the perfect gift for Crusader, except for the slight detail that she didn't have any American money on hand, had left her credit card behind in Halifax, and her Canadian $20 bill wouldn't be enough anyway even if it was accepted. The lack of a credit card, too, meant she couldn't even go to an ATM!

Sighing, Crescent stepped back. A present would have to wait until she got back to Halifax, unless she could work out some sort of trade with her Canadian bill. The odds were slight, but she scanned the crowd anyway. Maybe she could find some-

Oh. That would do it.

Pushing through the crowd, Crescent made a beeline for the American destroyer she'd spotted and half-recognized. A Gearing, definitely. First name of James, if she remembered correctly.

"Hey, James!" she called out once she was close enough. The American paused long enough for her to catch up. "Hey, can I talk to you real quick?"

"Uh, sure?" the destroyer said. "Oh, and call me Kyes. It's pronounced 'Keys'."

"Sure, sure," Crescent said as she pulled out the bill. "So, what do you think of this?"

When Kyes' eyes lit up at the sight of the money, Crescent knew she had her mark.

"Oh, it's so pretty," the American breathed, reaching out to touch it.

Instead, Crescent lifted it up and out of the way. "How about a trade?" she said. "You probably have a $20 bill on you. Let's swap!"

"Yay!"

The swap was made in a flash, and Kyes skipped away, happy as a clam. Crescent went in the opposite direction, happy both that she could get the plush pug and because she'd just fleeced the American destroyer. Twenty American dollars got you more than twenty Canadian, after all.

~o~

Iroquois steered into the harbor of Portland, Maine, in search of a wayward destroyer. Crescent kept vanishing from Halifax at random days, and Admiral Briggs had reported that many of his destroyers were doing the same, on days that coincided with Crescent's.

And if that was _actually_ a coincidence, Iroquois would eat her quad 2-pounder.

Especially since she could see, just from here, Crescent with some portable stand hawking... 20-dollar notes? Okay... Well, the American destroyers that made up the short line sure seemed happy to exchange them for $20 bills. Well, that made her task easy, she mused as she climbed up on shore. Just tell the Americans how badly they were getting ripped off by the exchange rate, and-

"Don't bother."

Iroquois blinked, stopped, and glanced to a table at an outdoor cafe next to her. In one of the chairs sat a Russian destroyer sporting a hammer and sickle armband.

"Slavnyi," the destroyer said, holding out her hand.

"Iroquois," the Canadian replied, taking and shaking. "So, why're you telling me not to bother?"

"You're planning to tell the Americans that they are losing out on the exchange rate, are you not?" Iroquois nodded. "I tried that myself. I believed, as you naively do, that they would see the unfairness for what it is." Sighing despondently, Slavnyi took a sip of her tea. "The socialists of the turn of the century had the right of it. Americans simply cannot see themselves as an oppressed proletariat. When told that information, those that did not already know it simply shrugged and went back to purchasing. Apparently, they value the 'cool looking scratch and sniff money' enough to not begrudge Crescent her profits."

That... sounded depressingly American, yes. Though now that got her an idea.

"Slavnyi, dear, clearly you still don't know _everything_ about Americans," Iroquois said, a hint of smugness in her smile. "They won't begrudge Crescent her profits - but give them a cheaper alternative, and they'll jump on it."

The Russian blinked, then shook her head and chuckled ruefully. "Ah. Yes, that should work."

"Anyway, why are you here in the US, anyway?"

Slavnyi's face lit up. "Supermarkets! The amount of goods in them is amazing! I simply had to see if the stories were true!"


	323. Rule 3095

**Rule 3095. To whoever introduced the Shipgirls to Super Robot Wars, please explain to them that the Valsione isn't their variation of a Shipgirl.  
**  
Naka clicked, and grinned as her intermission page showed up on the screen capture window she had up. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen," the fleet's idol announced into her microphone. "You asked. You pleaded. You begged. Some of you even tried to bribe me on . And luckily for you, one of my viewers has quite a bit of disposable income to throw my way. So it's happening. It's all Super Robot Wars, all the time, for at least..." Naka glanced behind her at her calendar. "The next month or so. Enjoy!"

The chat promptly exploded.

Grinning, Naka started up the first game and went to work.

The first game zipped by, as did the second. But about midway through the third, Naka noticed that some sort of argument was going on in the chat. It took a few more minutes to reach a sufficiently slow portion of the game to look it over, but it wasn't hard to piece together when she could pay attention.

It also was thoroughly inane.

"Guys, Valsione isn't the Super Robot equivalent of a shipgirl," Naka deadpanned, turning her attention back to the game. "She may look ridiculously human, but she's as big as the other mecha and has a pilot." Another glance at the chat, which almost provoked a facepalm. "No, fairies don't count as pilots, dammit!"

Grumbling, Naka sat back to finish the damn game. This particular robot wouldn't reappear until the Alpha series, at least, and that was a ways away. Hopefully the chat could shut up about Valsione until then.

~o~

"Alright, now that we're _finally_ ready-"

"Actually-"

 _"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SHIRANUI, NOW WHAT?!"  
_  
Before Shiranui could say anything, the door to the summoning chamber opened, Admiral Goto backlit by the light spilling in from the outer corridor. Kagero froze. Arare stayed frozen.

"Never mind," Shiranui said, waving to the newcomer. "Hey, Admiral."

"Shiranui," Goto replied with a nod. "Good job stalling Kagero."

"Stalling?!" the destroyer yelped, whirling on Shiranui. "You planned this?!"

"Of course we did!" Kasumi piped up from where she stood next to Goto. "We're not just going to noisily trail after you when you pull harebrained stunts like this anymore! And a _summoning_? Seriously?!"

"Fools! You've seen Naka's stream!" Kagero fired back. "That robot shipgirl could be our salvation!"

Silence greeted that declaration, broken only by Kasumi facepalming. "Kagero..." Goto said in a strained voice. "You do know that Valsione is just a regular robot, _and_ fictional, right?"

"You're not gonna pull the wool over my eyes! I have seen the truth, and-!"

Suddenly, Kagero stiffened and then collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, revealing Arare standing behind her with her fingers in a pinching gesture.

"Wouldn't stop..."

"Nice thinking, Arare," Shiranui said, flashing the other destroyer a thumbs up.


	324. Rule 3097

**Rule 3097. OK, people, since apparently some of you won't stop bitching and causing brawls about on who would win in a battleship duel between Yamato and Iowa, our SCIENCE! ship girls built authentic battleships with their WWII-era specifications and weaponry and in a smaller scale. This is done to: end the debate, not have our ship girls Iowa and Yamato fight as they're busy, not waste as much resources if said duel does come about.**

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 **Topic: Yamato vs. Iowa megathread**  
 **In: Boards ► Versus ► Real Life**  
 **BattleshipX** (Original Poster) (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Posted On Jan 17th 2016:  
For those of you who missed the mod banner earlier and are wondering where all the Yamato versus Iowa threads have gone, we've merged them all into this thread. All future discussion of Yamato versus Iowa is to go here.

As a side note, this does not mean that the rules don't apply. We can and will hand out infractions if things get sufficiently out of hand.

Edit: For convenience's sake, and to hopefully reduce the amount of screaming at newbies, a list of handy links.

Facehard Calcs - BattleshipX  
Comparative Armor Quality - Ze Medic  
Comparative Fire Control - Bigger Seven  
A Basic Tactical Primer - DoingHerBest  
Decapping Demystified - All Roads Lead To Roma  
Speed is King - Zekamashi

 **(Showing page 827 of 827)  
►Area8 **(JMSDF) (Verified Badass) (鳥海)  
Replied On Nov 17th 2017:  
YAMATO'S STILL THE ONE TO GET THE LONGEST GUNFIRE HIT IN HISTORY! AND NOBODY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM HER!

 **►Grand Old Lady** (Verified Badass) (Royal Navy) (Warspite (1915))  
Replied On Nov 17th 2017:  
I STILL DISPUTE THAT!

 **►Vollhorst** (Deutsche Marine) (Scharnhorst (1936))  
Replied On Nov 17th 2017:  
YEAH, WHAT SHE SAID!

 **►A Century On** (Royal Navy) (Masochist) (Centurion (1911))  
Replied On Nov 17th 2017:  
Bloody hell, do you two have some sort of automated alert that tells you when that's brought up? Because every time it is brought up, you guys are there to dispute it in less than five minutes.

 **►BattleshipX** (Original Poster) (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Replied On Nov 17th 2017:  
OPPRESSION INTENSIFIES

ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'VE HAD ENOUGH. ENOUGH OF THE DRAMA, ENOUGH OF THE POINTLESS BICKERING AND NATIONALIST DICKWAVING. WE CREATED THIS THREAD TO MAKE OUR WORKLOAD EASIER, BUT IT STILL CREATES AS MANY FUCKING REPORTS AS THE REST OF THE FUCKING VERSUS SUBFORUM COMBINED.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS. SO, AS SOON AS I CAN ARRANGE IT, THIS DEBATE IS GETTING FUCKING SETTLED, ONCE AND FOR ALL.

UNTIL THEN, THREAD LOCKED. AND GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE.

 **►ExplosiveMelons** (JMSDF) (Moderator) (Scientist Boat) (夕張)  
Replied On Nov 18th 2017:  
So, in case anyone was wondering, Yamato and Iowa did not take well to Dakota trying to bully them into a Death Battle. Medusa says she'll be able to eat solids again within the week.

Anyway, the moderation staff agrees with Dakota's complaints, though not the way she went about trying to resolve them. I've been in contact with Gneisenau, and we're going to be trying something different to settle this argument. Stay tuned for more announcements!

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **...** **825** **,** **826** **, 827**

Yamato and Musashi eyed the scale model of... well, themselves, with a critical eye. It certainly _looked_ authentic. And their fairies were silent so that was a good sign. For the Yuubari twins, at least.

"And you're _certain_ this will work?" Musashi asked. "I, Musashi, am quite fond of the fairies you're asking for, and would prefer not to lose them to a boiler explosion. Or ammunition explosion. Or stripped turbine. Or-"

"Oh for God's sake, yes, it works!" Yuubari snapped. "We tested it for three days out on the water, including full gunnery trials. It works! Now just hand over the fairies so we can get this farce over with as soon as possible!"

Musashi opened her mouth to argue further, but Yamato stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and shook her head. Sighing, the battleship handed over her fairies, as did her sister. The fairies all clambered into the model ship, and for a few minutes nothing happened except for a lot of clanging noises. Then a little rising sun flag popped up on the foremast.

"Success!" Yuubari cackled. "Alright, Gneis- ball's in your court!"

~o~

On the other side of the Pacific, Gneisenau grimaced as she felt her ears burn. "Dammit, Yuubari must've beaten me to finishing her model," she grumbled, before grinning. "On the other hand, I'm almost done, and I only had myself to work with!"

"Mm mm!"

Gneisenau rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine, you helped too, Dakota."

Behind her, still with her jaw wired shut, South Dakota beamed and flashed a thumbs up.

Turning back to the scale-model Iowa she was working on, Gneisenau went to work fitting in the last few hull welds, as well as fitting the many directors scattered over the superstructure. Finally, the last Mk. 37 was slotted into place, and Gneisenau stood, giving it one more once-over.

"Alright, looking good!" she declared, spinning around to face the two battleships that had been waiting. "It's fairy time, ladies!"

"About fucking time," New Jersey grumbled, holding out her hand.

"Yay!" Iowa cheered, holding out hers as well.

Their fairies clambered aboard and, much like with the Japanese model, after a few minutes of clanging work, hoisted the stars and stripes above the tower foremast.

"We're good to go!" Gneisenau declared.

~o~

Naturally, when the news that they were going to be simulating the most anticipated battleship matchup of all time - and simulating it as accurately as possible - everyone and their grandmother wanted to get ringside seats in Coronado, the closest shore to where the battle was being held.

And for once, that wasn't a figure of speech.

"Daaaaaamn," Hornet whistled, looking over the crowd. "There's Mikasa and Asahi... Vanguard and Centurion... Utah... San Giorgio and San Marcos... the entire Pacific Derp Squadron... _everyone_ wants to see this!"

At her side, Eldridge slowly blinked up at the carrier.

"Don't worry, I thought ahead on that front," Hornet replied. "I had a spot reserved. Would've cost me a pretty penny if it weren't for the fact that this event was registered in Seatgeek. Still expensive, though. Anyway, follow me!"

The two shipgirls picked their way through the crowd, making their way not to the lawn where most everyone was sitting, but to a balcony that overlooked the whole area, and offered the best views out to sea. The table Hornet had snagged wasn't the best, being towards the back of the balcony, but at least it was _on_ the balcony.

It was also, as it turned out, occupied.

"Oh, hello there, Hornet!" Zuikaku chirped. "Fancy seeing you here!"

"Turkey..." Hornet growled frostily. "What are you doing in _my_ seat? And for that matter, what is _everyone else_ doing in my seat!"

'Everyone else' consisted of Kaga, Taiho, and Shokaku, the latter waving to Eldridge. Zuikaku, for her part, was smugly unruffled by the 'turkey' line.

"If you'd paid attention to the ticket sales, you'd know they were selling them by the _table_ up here," she remarked. "And there's six seats to a table, so we split it evenly." Her mug grin became even more smug, if that was even possible. "And I know I bought my tickets first. So really, you're sitting at _my_ table."

The other carriers present all braced for an explosion from the carrier, and so were rather puzzled when it didn't happen. Instead, Hornet sighed and plopped down in her seat. "Ah, whatever. I've got my seats, and the occasion's too good to fight."

A cheer rose up from the lawn crowd, and everyone turned their eyes seaward, spotting the models steaming out.

"Especially when it's about to start!"

~o~

"Hey."

The appointed captain of the model Iowa - dubbed the Miowa - nodded. They were still a bit of a ways away from the main battle area, but already her gunnery crews were preparing solutions. The first shot would be theirs!

Finally, they reached the battle area, and with a chorus of "Hey!"s, kicked the model's engines into flank to start closing the range. The instant they crossed the 35,000-yard mark, the ship opened fire, mere milliseconds before their Japanese counterpart did so. With her binoculars, the captain watched for the impacts - and bit back a curse when all nine fell short, kicking up water in front of the model Yamato. Now, where were the-

Beady eyes widened as an almighty clang rang out. "Hey!" [We're hit!] wailed the fairy captain.

And hit they were. Only one shell had hit, but it had hit between the fore barbettes, punching through the bomb deck like it wasn't even there and then going through the main deck below. And from there, it still retained enough momentum to enter the shell room, and then the magazine below. All of this happened in the span of seconds - but it did allow the fairies to dive _out_ of the shell room.

*KA-BOOM!*

The resulting explosion blew the turret clean off, and sent the fore and aft ends of the ship seesawing up. Up in the bridge, the captain, sobbing despondently, slammed her tiny little fist against the window - and then whipped up her binoculars again. The model Yamato was, plain as day, listing towards them. And listing _badly.  
_  
"Hey..."

~o~

Back on shore, the mood was... stunned. Gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Poleaxed.

"W-What just happened?" Zuikaku choked out.

Hornet, her mouth hanging open, glanced at Eldridge. Hand, meet face.

"A draw..." she groaned. "The model Iowa suffered a magazine det, obviously, but the model Yamato took underwater hits in all the right places to bust _all_ her defective seams wide open."

"So..." Taiho drew out.

"Do you know the _odds_ of all that happening?" Hornet replied. "Suffice to say, it's all a bunch of golden BBs. It's a draw, results inconclusive. The endless debate rages on."

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

"Oh, huh, Dakota got her jaw unwired."


	325. Rule 3100

**Rule 3100. Taiho, we get you're paranoid of submarines, but kidnapping Albacore is not the answer!  
**  
Zuikaku slowly eased the doorknob to Taiho's room around, careful not to make a sound. When the knob stopped, she eased the door open, and carefully crept towards her desk so she could place the launch day present she'd gotten the carrier. Being not used to stealth, it took every ounce of her concentration, so it was only when she'd placed the present that she had the brainpower to look around the room.

For the most part, it was exactly like the last time she'd seen it. A few more books on the shelf, a few more posters on the wall, an Albacore body pillow sitting in bed with her. And above all, an utter lack of automated turret guns. Comforting, tha-

Wait a minute.

Squinting, Zuikaku examined what she'd assumed to be a body pillow a little more closely. But no, the carrier concluded when the figure locked eyes with her. That wasn't an Albacore body pillow; that was Albacore herself.

'Help me!' the submarine desperately mouthed.

Instead of doing something to help, Zuikaku shifted her gaze over to the sleeping Taiho, who was sleeping the sleep of the contented and the dead. In fact, it was a more peaceful sleep than any Zuikaku had seen her in, including when she'd had all her auto-turrets still in place and functioning. And unfortunately, Taiho was more important than Albacore.

Clapping her hands in front of her, Zuikaku bowed apologetically and then very quietly backpedalled out of the room, though not fast enough to miss the betrayed look Albacore sent her way.

The pang of guilt that look sent through her nearly sent her crashing to the floor. No. She would _not_ be leaving the American submarine behind. She would rescue her from Taiho's clutches!

turning around, she lunged for Albacore-

~o~

Hiryu padded down the hallway, making for Taiho's room to drop off her _own_ present. Then, suddenly, Zuikaku came crashing through the wall in a burst of wood, plaster, and drywall, momentum carrying her into the far wall.

Blinking, Hiryuu walked up to the hole and peeked inside in time to see Taiho settle back into bed, drawing Albacore tight. Like Zuikaku, the carrier got a full dose of pleading 'Help me!' _Un_ like Zuikaku, Hiryu felt no guilt and very little sympathy. Instead of trying her luck with Taiho, she instead dropped off her present before prying her fellow carrier's head out of the wall.

"What possessed you to disturb _Taiho_ when she's sleeping well?" Hiryu asked.

"Gotta... save Albacore..." Zuikaku slurred.

Suddenly, Sendai jumped out of the hole, Albacore under her arm. "I replaced her with a heated body pillow, but Taiho's gonna notice!" she reported. "Let's get out of here!"

"I wouldn't have even _minded_ that much if she had some damn curves on her!" Albacore groused. "She's skin and bones! It's not comfortable!"

"And I thought _we_ were the ones with lewdmarines," Hiryu muttered as she picked up Zuikaku and followed Sendai.


	326. Rule 3102

**Rule 3102. OK, people, it is once again reminded that doing your paperwork is** ** _important_** **as organization is critical in keeping a functioning bureaucracy and records. Screwing this up would have disastrous effects. It could range from misplaced supplies to missing an entire unit and making it as though it never existed.  
**  
USS Kentucky took a deep breath of salty sea air, letting it course through her lungs and nose. It felt so good to smell the sea, especially coming from a plane that positively _reeked_ of cows and sulfur. Not a fun combination. The demon cows especially.

"Ah, it's good to be back!" she declared.

Beside her, destroyers Madison, Farenholt, and Caldwell all blinked. "Y-You mean this isn't a hallucination? Like the last three times?" Madison said hopefully.

"Sure thing!"

"Really, really sure?" Farenholt pressed. "Because there was that one time with the sirens-"

"Yes, totally sure!"

"I swear to God, Rei, and whoever else is listening, Kentucky," Caldwell growled. "If we're not actually back-"

"Kentucky?!"

The lost quartet eyed Iowa. Eyed her new outfit, the cheerful-if-gobsmacked expression on her face, the complete lack of swear words despite the surprise. The stone-cold sobriety. And then, the destroyers screamed and clutched each other.

"We're still not home!"

"She's gonna kill us!"

"Or worse!

Iowa blinked. "Uhhhhh... that wasn't the reaction I was expecting..."

"Alright, test," Kentucky said, quieting the destroyers. "Big sis, what name did you give to the rubber duck Captain Gneckow was given?"

"THERE WAS NO FUCKMOTHERING RUBBER DUCK!" Iowa roared. The effect was immediate.

"Yay, we're back!" the destroyers cheered. Kentucky, for her part, merely let out a sigh of relief.

The anger flowed out of Iowa, letting the slack-jawed dumbfoundedness of earlier. "Where the fuck have you _been?"_ she eventually demanded. "We all thought your summoning was a-a fever dream, or something! Especially after we found an Abyssal version of you running around!"

All celebration just... stopped.

"What."

~o~

Kentucky eyed Wreck. Wreck eyed her right back. And in between and around them was a thick, blanketing tension that threatened to choke everyone else nearby with a modicum of spiritual awareness. Luckily, they were in a Los Angeles Starbucks, so the only ones affected were the snoopers that had followed Kentucky from San Diego.

"So," Kentucky said, breaking the silence. "You're me, but filled with enough rage and hate to go Abyssal."

[And you're me,] Wreck stated. [But after running through a meatgrinder of alternate realities with our old idealism still running.]

The two stared for a moment longer. Then...

The two fist-bumped. The resulting shockwave ruffled hair and skirts all across the coffee shop.

[Wanna prank the shit out of Wisconsin?] Wreck offered.

"You're on!"

~o~

As one, all three of Kentucky's former destroyers grabbed their glasses, upended them, and chugged them down, letting out a sigh of contentment as the alcohol hit their systems.

"Okay, what the hell happened to you three?" O'Bannon asked, curious. "You just... vanished one day. And now you're here, chugging down whiskey like it's water."

"A little bit of fun, at first," Caldwell explained blearily. "Be the turrets for a new summon without them for a few days, we'll be fine."

"And instead!" Madison loudly declared. "We get blue-haired eldritch abominations, and _demons_ roaming the _countryside_ that want to _rape your face_ , and- and- and-"

"We've seen some shit," Farenholt mumbled. "Things that would melt your brain and burn your ears if we explained."

"I'll take your word for it."

~o~

"How did this happen?" Admiral Holloway breathed. "How could we just... _misplace_ a battleship and three escorts for _years?_ And Wright, that's not rhetorical question, we need to answer this, at the very least to get Congress off our backs, so if you could stop rifling around in that filing cabinet-"

"Ah-ha!" the light carrier crowed. "Someone mixed the destroyers' personnel files in with Kentucky's, and then tossed it all into the 'C' section instead of the 'K' section!"

Holloway froze, the blistering tirade he was supposed to launch into getting stuck in his lungs. "Buh- that- how- WHARGLBRALGH?!"

"Uh-oh..." Wright muttered before pressing her intercom button. "Command, we have a code A/D..."


	327. Rule 3107

**Rule 3107: When THAT time of the month comes around don't panic.  
**  
Grasping the ceramic, Hatsuharu slowly lifted her teacup to her mouth and took a dainty sip of the hot tea. Flavor washed over her tongue, subtle and yet possessing of great impact, and the destroyer made a mental note to thank Kongo for recommending the blend. Slowly, she placed the cup back down on the tray in front of her, savoring the lingering effects.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!"

Sighing, Hatsuharu resigned herself to not finishing her tea - there's no _way_ she'd be reheating it - and padded over to the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Wakaba. Instead, she gets her sister charging back the other way, Jintsuu in hot pursuit. They whoosh by, ruffling her hair - and ruffling the hair of Hatsushimo, who was pressed against the wall.

"Whew," her sister breathed as Wakaba and Jintsuu vanished around a corner. "Did _not_ expect them to turn around like that."

"Nor I. Pray tell, what prompted such behavior from Wakaba?"

A grimace passed over Hatsushimo's face. "Puberty," she spat. "Specifically, what the Americans call 'Aunty Flow'."

Hatsuharu immediately shuddered. "Ah. Yes, that would do it. And she did not take it well, of course."

"Which is weird, considering she's taken some pretty serious damage without any problem, but whatever." Hatsushimo shrugged, a 'what can ya do' expression on her face. "I'm not going to question it."

A nod from Hatsuharu, one that froze midway through as something occurs to her.

"Wait, where's Nenohi?"

~o~

Inazuma skipped back, gut throbbing from a fresh blow there. Suddenly, Nenohi was right there, fists lashing out at incredible speeds.

"Useless!" the other destroyer screamed as she punched. "Uselessuselessuselessuselessuseless!"

Gritting her teeth, Inazuma matched Nenohi blow for blow, steadily backpedaling and looking for an opening. Or for someone to sneak up on her. Either way, she needed to be down and out so _someone_ could take care of the cramps Nenohi was undoubtedly feeling.

Because this was _definitely_ the worst case of PMS Inazuma had seen.

Ducking under another flurry of punches, Inazuma cursed under her breath. At this rate, she was going to get clobbered well before she would be able to take down Nenohi. Lovely.

 _'Where's the freaking backup I called for earlier?!'_

~o~

"Ah," Hatsuharu said. "Well, I wish Inazuma luck. She will need it, if what you've told me is accurate."

"Yeah. Better her than us," Hatsushimo agreed.

Both destroyers perked up as a scream dopplered towards them, and Wakaba came careening back into their hallway again, Jintsuu nowhere in sight. As she passed by, Hatsuharu reached out with her fan and snagged Wakaba's collar, bringing her to a halt.

"Hatsushimo, if you could find and retrieve Jintsuu, I believe we can end this farce," she said.

"On it!"


	328. Rule 3109

**Rule 3109. Just because your period is late does** ** _not_** **mean you should call the Vatican and tell then you're the next Virgin Mary.  
**  
Admiral Russo signed off on one last document, and happily shoved it into the "complete" stack, before sighing and leaning back. So far, her efforts to clean up the Italian navy's act were working. Incident reports were down, and efficiency was up, and all without making anybody unhappy. Except Pola, but that cruiser wasn't happy unless she was guzzling alcohol, period.

Her phone rang, and Russo picked it up, certain that nothing could ruin her current good mood.

 _"Admiral Russo? I'm a representative of the Vatican; we need to talk about some claims one of your shipgirls made."  
_  
Except that, apparently. Sighing, Russo ran her hand down her face. "Who did what?"

Outside, Roma was doing paperwork of her own, and thinking about what things she could push onto Russo soon. Had to balance responsibility with the likelihood of the poor woman breaking down like poor Colombo did.

 _"She did_ what?!"

Never mind. More responsibility could wait.

~o~

*THUMP!* *THUMP!*

Stepping back, Admiral Russo crossed her arms and tried to incinerate the door in front of her with her gaze alone. As she lacked both the X-gene and Kryptonian heritage, the door remained intact, as did Bande Nere when she opened it.

"Oh, hey, Admiral. 'Sup?" the cruiser said.

 _"The next Virgin Mary?!"_ Russo roared.

Bande Nere blinked. Twice. "I don't see what the problem is," she finally said.

 _"Youuuuuuu-"  
_  
"Ah, Admiral?" Roma cut in as Russo attempted to Force-choke her cruiser. "Perhaps I should handle this."

"Yeah, you do that. I'm gonna go break things." And with that, Russo stomped off.

"Jeez, what's got her panties in a twist?" Banda Nere muttered.

Roma diplomatically ignored that question. "So, what makes you think you're the new Virgin Mary?" she asked instead.

"Well, I'm a virgin, obviously," she explained. "And my period's been late for a few days now! And that's a sure sign of pregnancy! QED!"

Sighing, Roma pinched the bridge of her nose. Shipgirl logic. Of course. "Have you actually _confirmed_ pregnancy?" the battleship asked, despite already knowing the answer. "Done a test, seen a doctor, _anything?"  
_  
"There's a _test?"_ Bande Nere said, amazed - right before she suddenly hunched over, clutching her gut. "Shit! This feels like my period cramps!"

"Told~you~so~!" Roma sang.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind Roma, footsteps that soon resolved into a man of Northern European features and middling age, a genial smile on his face and priestly vestments covering him.

"Can I help you, mister...?" Roma queried.

"Father, actually. Father Alexander Anderson." The priest's smile widened to include a few molars. _"Inquisition_. I'm here to follow up on Bande Nere's claims."

Roma blinked, and then matched Father Anderon's smile with one of her own. "By all means, Father, ask away," she said. "We can compare notes afterward."

"Excellent," Anderson said, advancing on a suddenly terrified Bande Nere. "Now don't worry, this shouldn't hurt at all."

The door slammed shut. Roma briefly entertained the idea of listening in at the door, but...

"Nope," she decided, turning away. "I'd better go report to Admiral Russo, anyway."


	329. Rule 3113

**Rule 3113. Iku is not allowed to give The Talk to any Destroyers or Frigates.  
**  
To the surprise of no one had they known, Iku and Noriko Kamata were at it again. I really shouldn't have to spell out what "it" was. They were just getting to the good part when a knock at the door interrupted them.

"Ignore it... *pant* Iku-chan..." Noriko breathed, running a finger down her lover's bare back, eliciting a shudder and pleasured moan. "They'll go away..."

Snorting like a bull, Iku did exactly that and picked up the pace, Noriko squealing in joy beneath her.

Then came another knock.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" the submarine roared. Standing, she stomped over to the door and swung it open to find Asashio staring up at her, unimpressed. "Uh... this isn't what it looks like?"

One delicate eyebrow rose. "Riiiiight..." Asashio said. "Doesn't matter. I need your help with something." Taking a sniff, and eyeing Iku's sweaty form, she wrinkled her nose. "I'll give you a half hour to clean up."

"Er, what do you need help with?" Iku queried.

"I need The Talk," Asashio said, serious as a nuclear winter.

A grin spread over Iku's face, one that _should_ have sent Asashio running for the hills. But she didn't, and Iku ran with it. "I'll do that!" she chirped, closing the door. Noriko, now sitting up, shot her a questioning look.

"Honey, get the props, and the whiteboard, and the restraints!" Iku declared. "We get to give The Talk!"

"Really?!" Noriko cried.

"Really! Let's get cleaned up and ready!"

~o~

"You had _Iku_ give you the talk?!"

"Yes," Asashio said, a frown furrowing her brow. "I don't see what the problem is."

Ooshio, blatantly gaping at her big sister, threw Kamikaze a pleading look. Sighing, the older destroyer took up the baton. "Well, it's... Iku. Wouldn't she get carried away?"

"It was very long..." Asashio mused. "But also very informative."

Ooshio and Kamikaze exchanged skeptical glances. Iku? Being _restrained?_ Impossible! But there was the evidence right there in front of them. And in front of the many listeners, too.

"Great," Suzuya suddenly cut in, plopping Kumano on the seat next to Asashio. "Then I can, like, pawn Kumano off on her, right?"

"I-I know the facts of life, sister!" Kumano protested.

"You know, like, the basics of the basics. _Anatomy."  
_  
"If I may," Kirishima cut in, shoving Haruna into the seat herself. "We have decided that tiptoeing around the issue around Haruna isn't going to cut it anymore."

"What issue?"

"You'll see."

"And it has come to my attention," Unryuu joined in, Kasagi behind her. "That Kasagi has... neglected that aspect of her education in modern life."

"I said I was sorry..."

Asashio eyed the trio, and then nodded. "I'll introduce you guys. Fair warning, this'll take most of the day."

~o~

When Kirishima, Unryuu, and Suzuya went to pick up their sisters, they did not expect to find them sitting gape-mouthed and glassy-eyed on the floor outside Iku's room. They did. Kirishima immediately panicked.

"Haruna! Are you alright?!" she demanded, grabbing her sister and shaking her.

"Haruna is not alright," the battleship groaned. "Haruna has seen some shit..."

"Like, seen what?" Suzuya wondered. "What would get this kind of reaction?"

"I didn't know people could _stretch_ that far..." Kumano breathed. "Or find it _enjoyable."_

Unryuu and Suzuya exchanged glances, turning slightly green. "Uh, seriously, like, what did Iku show you guys?"

 _"Everything,"_ carrier and cruiser chorused. "With live demonstrations."

"It was informative, yeah."

"But I think we need to scrub our retinas with bleach."


	330. Rule 3117

**Rule 3117: Akitsu Maru's backpack is not a hiding spot.  
**  
Akitsu Maru stamped the paper in front of her, passed it on, and slid another sheet out in front of her. Officially, she was the liaison with the JGSDF and US Marines in case it was ever required to do an opposed landing in Abyssal territory. In practice, she was just another paper-pusher with no real combat role available.

Not that she minded overmuch. Frontline combat was terrifying, and she wanted no association with the IJA. People looked askance at all the IJN ships that made up Japan's shipgirl fleet, but the entire Pacific Rim _detested_ the IJA on a visceral level.

Suddenly, the door to her small office slid open, and the landing ship looked up to find a Marine standing in her doorway, hands on his knees and breath coming in ragged pants.

"Oh, Dude, it's you," she said, perhaps a bit harsher than she'd intended. "What are you doing here?"

'Dude' was a Marine sergeant, a routine troublemaker who had been busted up and down the noncom ranks for well over a decade. And yes, he was called 'Dude', mostly because of the three people in the Corps who ever knew his name, one was now dead, another had gone mad, and the third, his old drill sergeant, had forgotten it entirely. Or, at least, so the rumors went.

In any case, with the above in consideration, it didn't take a genius to figure out what Dude was looking for here. "Who did you aggravate this time?" Akitsu Maru sighed.

"The Atago sisters?" Dude replied, holding up his hands. "Really easy on the eyes, but _man_ do some of them have a temper. If they don't want oil all over their tits, maybe they should wear such tight tops."

Resisting the urge to punch the Marine, Akitsu Maru continued. "Alright, so what do you want from me?"

Dude opened his mouth, right as heavy footsteps and shouts of "He went this way!" filtered in through the open door. Grimacing, Akitsu Maru grabbed her backpack, slung it on her back, and shouted "Get in!"

"But-" Dude said, warily eyeing the backpack.

"I'm a troopship, getting in my hold doesn't have the same effects," Akitsu Maru countered. "Also, do you _really_ want to be beaten up by a bunch of heavy cruisers?"

That settled the matter for Dude. Scrambling behind Akitsu Maru, he unzipped the backpack and tentatively stuck his hand in. Sighing, Akitsu Maru reached behind her, grabbed his shirt, and shoved him headfirst into the backpack, where he vanished.

And none too soon, for Maya and Chokai burst through the door barely a second afterward. "Where is he?!" the latter roared.

Akitsu Maru eyed the two cruisers, noting a sheen to the skin around their chests - and the fact that they were wearing plain tank tops instead of their usual blue sailor tops.

"He burst in and decided to brave the vents," she lied.

"Curses!" Maya spat. "C'mon, let's go get Kongo, she'll be able to get him out of there."

The two heavy cruisers bolted out, at which point Akitsu Maru sighed in relief and sat down.

"Heeee~eeeey."

Slowly, the landing ship turned around to see Kongo right behind her, hanging from the ceiling and wearing a grin with a few too many teeth. Glancing up, Akitsu Maru noted that Kongo didn't seem to have any visible attachment to the ceiling. Also, her skirt was outright defying gravity.

"How are you-" Akitsu Maru began, wondering to herself whether she was talking about the skirt or the attachment.

"Strong toes. Soooooo, watcha doin'?"

The landing ship glanced at her paperwork. "Administrative stuff," she tried. No response from Kongo. Was that good or bad? Bad, she decided; best to be on the safe side. "Also, I'm hiding Dude in my backpack."

Kongo nodded. "You're a good bro, Akitsu Maru," she said. "Buuuuuut I'm gonna need to borrow your backpack. 'Kay? 'Cause he needs to learn that if he touches my sisters, I touch him. 'Kay?"

"Okay..." Akitsu Maru said uneasily.

Nodding again, Kongo grabbed the backpack. "Glad we had this talk!" And with that, she slithered into the vent.

Shuddering, Akitsu Maru turned back to her work in an effort to scrub away the thoughts of what Kongo was going to do to the man. They wouldn't go away. Finally, after five minutes of trying and failing, the landing ship stood, walked up to the vent, and shouted in, "Remember! He doesn't regenerate, and the baths don't work on him!"

Conscience appeased, she went back to working in peace.


	331. Rule 3119

**Rule 3119. Seriously, no more Pokemon Go!  
**  
"Are we really doing this?" Haguro groaned.

"Ssh!" Myoko hissed before turning her gaze back over the bush they were behind. "As Ashigara's big sister, Nachi and I must protect her purity! Right, Nachi?"

The heavy cruiser in question didn't even look up from her phone, merely grunting in assent.

"It's Captain Yonehara!" Haguro hissed back. "He killed a damn Re-class to protect her! He's not gonna do anything!"

"We don't know that!" Myoko practically shouted, whirling around to jab an accusing finger at Haguro. "It could all just be an extended act to-to force her into doing unspeakably lewd things!"

"Well, yes," Haguro drawled. "That's what couples _do._ Besides, they're just holding hands right now!"

Myoko let out a sound like a goose being strangled underwater, and whirled back to her vantage point. Indeed, Ashigara and Captain Yonehara were holding hands as they walked down the street.

"No! Pervert! Enemy of women! Get your hands off my sister!"

Haguro groaned and let her head rest in her hand as Myoko launched into a blistering tirade. When she let her head up again, though, she noticed someone missing.

"Hey, Myoko, have you seen Nachi?"

Her elder sister blinked, paused her rant, and looked around. No Nachi. "Huh. Where'd she go?"

Haguro shrugged, and then frowned at a whistling sound. She looked up, her eyes widened to comical levels, and then she poked Myoko on the shoulder and pointed up. The other heavy cruiser looked up, with much the same reaction.

The whistling intensified, and then there was an almighty smashing noise as Nachi fell from the sky onto a parked Cresta, crushing it into the approximate thickness of a large phone book.

"MY CRESTAAAAAAA!" wailed a balding salaryman as a small crowd began to gather around the wrecked car, including Myoko and Haguro.

"Uh, sis?" Haguro said hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

In lieu of responding, Nachi held up her phone. "I got the Scyther!"

The ground shook as everyone watching face-faulted.

~o~

"Hmm..."

"What's up?" Enterprise asked her girlfriend. "You've got that cute look on your face you get when you're concentrating really hard."

"Oh!" Yamato hastily looked up from her phone, an embarassed flush on her face. "I, uh, I've been looking for this Charizard for a few days now, and I think I might have a lead."

"Pokemon, huh?" Enterprise mused. "Never did get what the appeal of that was- Oh! Archery shop!"

Yamato giggled at her girlfriend's sparkling eyes. She was always on the lookout for a better bow, though Yamato herself always found the shopping a bit dull.

"Tell you what," she said. "Why don't you go take a look and I'll follow this lead, okay?"

"Sure!" was the reply, Enterprise immediately bolting for the store.

Yamato giggled again, and then changed directions to follow the lead her phone was giving her. She barely noticed her surroundings as she walked through the Tucson cityscape. The two were taking a weekend getaway at Tucson's many resort hotels, a combination of window shopping and pampering at the hotel, and at the moment they had been doing the former. So intent was she on trying to find that Pokemon that she didn't realize when the bustling commercial district faded into the rumbling of Interstate 19. Nor when she walked through the concrete barrier separating the highway from the streets. In fact, the only thing that shook her out of her concentration was the lead fading.

"Oh, I do wonder where I can find that Chari-" was all she said before a honking horn finally jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked up just in time to see the grille of an 18-wheeler truck two feet from her face.

*WHAM!*

Enterprise, for her part, had just exited the archery shop when she heard the loud smashing - not to mention no Yamato. Frowning, she began jogging towards the sound of the crash, and found a wrecked 18-wheeler on the highway at the end of some impressive skid marks, with one of Yamato's shoes poking out of the front.

"Yamato!" the carrier shouted, running up to the front of the truck. The battleship was thoroughly embedded in the engine compartment, and from the kicking of her legs was conscious but had no leverage to free herself. Enterprise reached out, grabbed her shoulder with one hand, and braced herself against the truck with the other before yanking. Yamato came out in a spray of metal components, shoving the truck backwards in the process.

"Yamato, are you alright?" Enterprise shouted, looking over her girlfriend for any injuries.

"Ne, ne, E, I'm fine," Yamato said, wiping away a bit of blood from her upper lip. "Just a bloody nose." She glanced down at the mangled lump of metal in her hand. "My phone's done for, though."

Enterprise let out a chuckle that quickly dissolved into hysterical laughter as she hugged her girlfriend tight. "Dammit, Yamato, don't scare me like that!"

~o~

"Admiral, I need a new phone."

Admiral Hartmann glanced up, and did a rather impressive double-take as he saw a smoking, very naked Bismarck standing in front of him, the molten remains of her phone in her hands.

"What... how... but... guh..."

Bismarck blushed, fidgeting nervously. "I was playing Pokemon Go, and I might have maybe, possibly, accidentally walked into a burning building."

Hartmann gaped for a few more seconds before his phone rang. "Hello?" he said desperately. "Oh, a fire? ... I see. ... No, I'll handle it. ... Yes, I'm terribly sorry about that. She's normally not this oblivious. ... I'm afraid the only ones who could do it are all tied up. Goodbye."

Hartmann hung up the phone, and leveled a stern glare at Bismarck. "So, the fire department has just informed me that your story is correct," he said gravely, prompting Bismarck to flinch. "Get dressed. We need to have a talk about this."

~o~

Ryuujo stared at the Nagato-shaped hole in the wall in front of her. The silhouette even had her two radar antenna. She turned around, staring down the identical hole going the other way. Then she turned back to Mutsu.

"Eevee?" the light carrier deadpanned.

"Eevee," Mutsu confirmed.


	332. Rule 3121

**Rule 3121. You may not use UV flashlights on base.  
**  
"Alright, tell me what you called me here for, Matsukaze, so I can get this over with," Asakaze groused. 'Here' was... basically a random lounge.

"Aww, c'mon, Forehead, where's your sense of adventure?" Matusukaze teased.

"It enacted a suicide pact with the last of the fucks I have to give."

Rolling her eyes, Matsukaze pulled out a pair of flashlights. "Alright, fine, I'll explain. These are UV flashlights." Her grin came back with a vengeance. "Wanna see what it shows?"

Asakaze narrowed her eyes. "Let me guess: Iku had a massive orgy in here and it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting and I'll be hitting the brain bleach."

"Oh, for the love of-" Groaning, Matsukaze hit the lights and turned on the flashlight. "I have to look at this too, y'know! So..."

Matsukaze trailed off, jaw gaping open in naked horror and disgust. Asakaze would've taken the opportunity to say "I told you so", but she was kind of in a similar condition herself.

Lit by the UV flashlight's beam was... well, a Jackson Pollock painting that stretched from floor to ceiling. And- Matsukaze shifted the beam up. Yup, it was all over the ceiling, if less dense. The destroyer panned the beam around some more. Carpet? Pollock painting. Couches? Pollock painting. Table? One gigantic splotch right in the middle. TV? Pollock painting. One particular corner? Solid. Glowing.

Asakaze shuddered. "I feel unclean..." she muttered.

"L-Let's get out of here," Matsukaze suggested. "A-And maybe get someone in who can analyze all this."

~o~

"Y'know, I honestly wish you girls hadn't called me in," Yuubari groused as she ran a scanner over one of the walls "This is just... ugh."

"T-Then, it's actually all-"

"Uh-huh."

Both destroyers shuddered in abject disgust. "How did... whoever did this, even _get_ that much of the stuff?" Asakaze wondered aloud.

"Either over a very long time, or with a couple hundred guys at once with lots of stamina," Yuubari absently answered, more focused on the reading given off by the odd swirling pattern on the table. "Okay, I was wrong, it's _not_ all the same substance. _This_ is newer, and it's mostly an oil-based lubricant."

"An oil-based lubricant?" Matsukaze parroted. "Why would anyone need that much-" The source of much of the rest of the room's spatters, as well as the size of the lubricant stain, came together and adequately, if disgustingly, answered that question. "Oh, I think I'm gonna be sick..."

"I don't even want to know..." Asakaze muttered.

Silence fell for a few minutes while Matsukaze dry-heaved, but then Asakaze remembered something, and pointed to a specific corner.

"That reminds me, what happened in that corner?" she asked.

Yuubari swung her scanner over to that corner, and immediately grimaced. "Urine."

The two destroyers shared a look. "Urine?" they repeated.

"Urine."

As one, all three shuddered.

"Right, I'm gonna talk to Admiral Goto about tearing down this room to the wall studs and _burning it all,"_ Yuubari growled. "You girls go ahead and do whatever it is you want to do, except mess around with those UV lights some more. If there are any more rooms like this, I wanna live in blissful ignorance."

From the frantic nods, Asakaze and Matsukaze both agreed. Vigorously.


	333. Rule 3122

**Rule 3122. The "Anonymous Kanmusu Confessions" social media page is to be shut down immediately.**

 **AN: This takes place before Zuikaku and Kaga hooked up.**

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 **Topic: Anonymous Kanmusu Confessions**  
 **In: Boards ► General ► Life on Shore**  
 **A Century On** (Original Poster) (Royal Navy) (Masochist) (Centurion (1911))  
Posted On Nov 12th 2016:  
So, I have been informed by a... reliable source that my little "confession" is the most-liked post on the site. And while I'm still not happy that the post exists, well, I smell an opportunity. Let's make this the place where you can come and unload all your deepest, darkest secrets!

Now, we'll need to lay a few ground rules. First. I've had Dakota make the thread private to non-members, but I have to emphasize this: what happens in the Confessions thread stays in the Confessions thread. No dragging it out onto other parts of the site or, God forbid, RL. Second. No shaming. This is a place for shipgirls to share their darkest desires without judgement.

Alright, who'd like to go first?

 **(Showing page 1 of 4)  
►The Last Gunfighter **(De Ruyter 1941) (WWII Survivor) (Best By Default) (MGP)  
Replied On Nov 12th 2016:  
Alright, fine, I admit it, I wasn't the best gun cruiser ever. Hell, every time I thought of having to fight BrooklynRage or The Anti-Airfield, I got the vapors!

Well, as much as I could get the vapors as a ship.

 **►That Dang Yang** (USN) (Post-War Veteran) (DD-764)  
Replied On Nov 14th 2016:  
I don't actually come up with my puns on the spot. I do a Winston Churchill and memorize, like, a hundred all at once.

 **►Bonnie the Wyvern** (RCN) (Bonaventure (RML 22))  
Replied On Nov 15th 2016:  
So, uh, I might have kinda, sorta, accidentally stolen a Tomcat fighter from one of the museum boats - not saying who! - and tried to launch it. And failed. And wrecked it.

Sorry?

 **►D69 for Vendetta** (Royal Australian Navy) (D69) (Vendetta (1917)) (Scrap Iron Boat)  
Replied On Nov 15th 2016:  
How do you "accidentally" steal something?

Anyway, uh, Yavuz, don't be mad, but Vampire wasn't the one hung that scary mask over the ceiling. I did it and then threw Vampire under the bus.

 **►The Blue Beauty** (Russian Navy) (Tashkent (1939))  
Replied On Nov 18th 2016:  
I eat all the candy I confiscate from my destroyers! I'm a terrible person!

 **►Dunkek** (Baguette Boat) (Dunkerque 1937)  
Replied On Nov 19th 2016:  
ALRIGHT, I ADMIT IT, I'M ENGLISH!

I LIKE DRINKING BLACK TEA!

I THINK KIDNEYS ARE AN ACCEPTABLE PIE INGREDIENT!

I ROOT FOR ENGLISH FOOTBALL TEAMS AND PREFER CRICKET!

 **►sTREUDEL** (Baguette Boat) (Strasbourg 1937)  
Replied On Nov 19th 2016:  
AND I'M GERMAN! I ADMIT IT!

I LIKE STREUSEL AND SAUERKRAUT AND LIVERWURST ON MY CRACKERS INSTEAD OF CHEESE! AND BEER OVER WINE!

I SOMETIMES FIND MYSELF WANTING TO INVADE POLAND!

I BUTCHER THE FRENCH LANGUAGE BY MAKING UP MASSIVE COMPOUND WORDS!

 **►OKTYABRSKAYA REVOLUTSIYA** (Russian Navy) (Gangut (1911))  
Replied On Nov 20th 2016:  
I'm sorry, Comrade Tiny One! I'm not a true Communist at all! I'm a bourgeoise infiltrator!

 **►Despair Ship Remorse** (Royal Navy) (Repair Boat) (F79)  
Replied On Nov 22nd 2016:  
I sometimes don't fix my patients up completely. I don't leave them with any functionality problems, just a persistent discomfort.

Also, I pawn patients off on American repair ships as much to see their reactions as to reduce my own workload.

 **End of Page. 1,** **2** **,** **3** **,** **4**

 **(Showing page 2 of 4)  
►Mighty Hood **(Royal Navy) (Fun & Engaging) (Pennant 51)  
Replied On Nov 23rd 2016:  
I touch myself at night to pictures of Bismarck.

 **►TheOtherEnterprise** (Royal Navy) (D52)  
Replied On Nov 23rd 2016:  
Sometimes I pretend to be the American Enterprise to get free drinks and stuff like that.

 **► FirstToJapan** (USN) (Unverified Boat) (Not a Skitter) (DD-468)  
Replied On Nov 24th 2016:  
I have a Worm self-insert sitting on my hard drive. No promises on actually releasing it.

 **►Lucky'O** (USN) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (DD-450) (Potato Boat)  
Replied On Nov 26th 2016:  
Oh, man, where to start...

My fries are store-bought.

I've been testing how far I can water down the vodka before the Russians notice.

I've been encouraging Dunkerque and Strasbourg to drop by Britain more often, because seriously, those two are great for business.

I've served... probably over a hundred individual destroyers, frigates, or corvettes at this point. They tend to buy the cheap beer.

 **►Mighty Mo** (USN) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (Veirifed Badass) (BB-63)  
Replied On Nov 27th 2016:  
I like [HOLY SHIT REDACTED]. I'm such a deviant!

[USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: HOLY FUCK NO.]

 **►Tin_Can_Sister** (Moderator) (USN) (DD-513)  
Replied On Nov 27th 2016:  
Jesus fuck. Okay, guys, newsflash: confession thread or no confession thread, we want to keep this at least nominally safe for work. Which means disgustingly graphic descriptions, like the one above, are not okay! You can get the message across with less detail!

Anyway, as a thread tax, I... do Terry Crews impressions in the shower. A lot.

 **►Playgirl_of_the_Pacific** (USN) (Movie Star) (SS-311) (Goat Boat)  
Replied On Nov 29th 2016:  
So, I kinda idolize South Dakota and Phoenix. And want to emulate them.

What I'm saying is, if you run into a firebreathing goat sometime in the next week, my bad, that's my fault.

 **► Randy_And_Savage** (USN) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran) (DE-386)  
Replied On Nov 30th 2016:  
So, uh, yeah, wrestling nights are scripted. Though honestly, if you actually thought I could beat an Iowa in a seriousface wrestling match... yeah, make sure your spam filter is stout.

 **►All Roads Lead To Roma** (Marina Militare) (Roma (1937)) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)  
Replied On Dec 1st 2016:  
I like to string along spam email scammers. The problem is, I'll also beg out of social engagements to keep up. Fiume, that's the real reason I couldn't get coffee with you on Monday.

 **►Throw A Bone** (Royal Navy) (H91) (Bulldog (1930))  
Replied On Dec 1st 2016:  
So, y'know the ducks? In the bathroom? The yellow rubber ducks?

Yeah, that's me.

 **End of Page.** **1** **, 2,** **3** **,** **4**

 **(Showing page 3 of 4)  
►TheBlackDragon **(USN) (Verified Badass) (Museum Boat) (Movie Star) (Post-War Veteran)  
Replied On Dec 2nd 2016:  
My favorite singer is Whitney Houston. And I have a weakness for R&B Whitney.

 **►TheNick** (USN) (Verified Momboat) (DD-449)  
Replied On Dec 2nd 2016:  
When people annoy me, my response is often to point William D. Porter at them and watch the fireworks.

 **►The Big E** (USN) (CV-6) (The Grey Ghost)  
Replied On Dec 4th 2016:  
I dispose of failed cooking experiments by feeding them to Yoshino. This includes the destroyed cookware.

 **►Bongou_Kongou** (JMSDF) (Honorary Brit Boat) (Tea Master) (Flagship) (金剛)  
Replied On Dec 5th 2016:  
I'm not actually as excitable as I act. It's exactly that: an act. The vent-climbing me, though, that's not an act. Just so we're clear.

Also, I, uh, like... stern-work. In bed.

 **►6TheDragon6BladePrincess6** (JMSDF) (Chuuni Boat) (天龍)  
Replied On Dec 6th 2016:  
I watch My Little Pony. And my favorite is Rarity.

 **►Cape Kaga** (JMSDF) (Heater Boat) (加賀)  
Replied On Dec 7th 2016:  
I actually eat more than Akagi, and I encourage the meme to cover that up.

Also, Zuikaku is the better carrier.

 **►Kusonator** (JMSDF) (Kuso Boat) ((曙))  
Replied On Dec 8th 2016:  
Honestly? I complain, but Admiral Goto's not that bad. The rest of the JMSDF brass can all die in all the fires, though.

 **►LuckyCrane** (JMSDF) (Verified Turkey) (瑞鶴)  
Replied On Dec 8th 2016:  
I really, really respect Kaga. Especially her owning up to her actions in China during the War.

 **►The Fleets Idol** (Moderator) (JMSDF) (Gamer Boat) (Idol Boat) (那珂)  
Replied On Dec 8th 2016:  
There are days when I really want to just quit the idol business. They never last long, thankfully, and fighting Abyssals is a good stress reliever.

 **►Pineapple Under the Sea** (JMSDF) (如月)  
Replied On Dec 9th 2016:  
I'm a massive, colossal pervert. Don't believe me? Just ask Yuubari about that luminol-stain room. Yup. Me. Except for the urine in the corner. Don't know where the hell that came from.

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **, 3**

 **(Showing page 4 of 4)  
►TehLewdmarine **(JMSDF) (Verified Lewdmarine) (一九)  
Replied On Dec 10th 2016:  
I dye.

 **►Suzumebachi** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Haunted) (CV-12)  
Replied On Dec 12th 2016:  
I'm a bit of a compulsive sock hoarder. So if your socks keep vanishing... yeah, sorry.

 **►The Greater Evil** (Allied Abyssal) (BB-66)  
Replied On Dec 13th 2016:  
At this point, my grudge against Wisconsin has descended into "Will troll at any opportunity" levels rather than the "200% RAGE" it used to be.

 **►Zekamashi** (JMSDF) (Stripperbote) (島風)  
Replied On Dec 14th 2016:  
I'm not actually the fastest.

Also, I have regular clothes, I just choose not to wear them.

 **►Rodnol** (Royal Navy) (Sheep Boat) (Pennant Number 29) (Rodney 1925)  
Replied On Dec 16th 2016:  
I steal sheep from local farmers so I can cuddle them. Just cuddle them, I swear! And I put them back when I'm done!

[USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: DO NOT EXPOSE THIS FORUM TO LEGAL TROUBLE.]

 **►Magellanese** (Marina Militare) (Leon Pancaldo) (FUCKING SPAGHETTIS)  
Replied On Dec 16th 2016:  
When I'm called on to watch destroyers, I use narcotics to put them to sleep.

[USER WAS INFRACTED FOR THIS POST: DO NOT EXPOSE THIS FORUM TO LEGAL TROUBLE.]

 **►BattleshipX** (Moderator) (USN) (Verified Badass) (Scientist Boat) (BB-57)  
Replied On Dec 16th 2016:  
This is why we can't have nice things.

Rule number one of Shipgirls online: don't bring legal trouble on our heads. It's a rule that is thankfully not broken very often, so having two at once in one thread? Yeah, that's a fucking accomplishment.

Magellanese, Rodnol, have fifty points each. The only reason it's not higher is because this is a private thread.

The rest of you, sorry, but I'm shutting this down before we get more violations - or worse, more descriptions like Mo's.

 **End of Page.** **1** **,** **2** **,** **3** **, 4**


	334. Rule 3127

**Rule 3127. For the love of god encrypt your communications, keep your encryption keys up to date, double check that a girl has been sunk before reporting it and don't send the report on an open channel! It took half the base to restrain Enterprise when the mistaken news that Yamato had been sunk arrived, and she is still in her room, with Yamato, her sisters and escorts crying.  
**  
With her pregnancy, Enterprise had been sortieing less and less. By now well into her second trimester, she was essentially laid up for good, watching Yoshino and listening to fleet communications on a ham radio she'd put together. Not only was it fun, but it was a good bit of potential blackmail, because the transmissions were the sorts of transmissions were _supposed_ to be on closed, encrypted channels instead of broadcast all over the place.

Astoundingly, Harbor Princess aside, the Abyssals hadn't really taken advantage. Which meant her listening was utterly guilt-free. Just one downside.

 _"Main Body is under attack! Eight Ru-class battleships!"  
_  
It was utterly nerve-wracking when Yamato was among those out fighting. Still, in this case Enterprise wasn't _too_ worried. Yamato was no slouch in combat, Musashi and Mutsu were even _more_ superior, and, well, they had Super Nagamon on their side. The idea of _that_ bunch being defeated by standard Abyssals was laughable.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a colossal explosion over the ham radio. Enterprise gritted her teeth, hands splintering the arms of the chair she sat in.  
 _  
"Oh my god,"_ one of the voices on the radio breathed. _"Y-Yamato... she..."_

 _"Sunk! Yamato's sunk!"_

Snap.

~o~

Kongo was the first to find out that something was wrong, followed shortly by Haruna, Hiei, and Kirishima. This was due to the Grey Ghost, complete with blazing red aura, visible claws, and an Abyssal-like mask over her face, smashing through the wall and their afternoon tea. Naturally, none of them took kindly to that.

The _next_ to find out were Soryu and Hiryu, who took one look at the Grey Ghost, who had just used Kongo's skull to smash a hole in the nearby wall, and ran screaming the other way. That, in turn, gathered the rest of the base, which leads us to the current scene:

All four Mogami sisters, grabbing the Grey Ghost's shoulders and, with some success, trying to hold her back. Tenryuu and Kiso pressing their swords up against her, adding additional force. Inazuma keeping her hands occupied with, of all things, a game of patty-cake. Yuudachi wrapped around her legs.

And yet, inch by inch, step by shuffled step, the Grey Ghost continued to advance to the ocean. With each step, the rattled words _"Yamato..."_ or _"Kill..."_ slipped out of her mouth.

"D-Dammit!" Tenryuu grunted, sliding back a foot or so. "We're not stopping her! And I'm not sure we _want_ to be stopping her!"

"Y'wanna leave poor Yoshino with _no_ parents instead of one?" Suzuya demanded. "She runs off, there goes, like, our last chance to maybe get her out of this getup!"

Another step, another skid, and Tenryuu and Kiso found their heels hanging off the edge of the pier.

"Well, the eggheads better think of something quick, because we're running out of time!" Kiso snapped.

Suddenly... gold. Nagamon. _Super Nagamon._ The battleship eyed the Grey Ghost.

"Let her go."

They did, rubbing sore muscles in the process. The Grey Ghost stepped forward, and locked arms with Super Nagamon, the two pushing and shoving at each other, but not budging.

And then verily, did a fist descend from the heavens and smack Enterprise upside the head. The mask shattered, and the oppressive weight of the Grey Ghost vanished, leaving behind just Enterprise.

"Wha- W-What-" she breathed, before locking eyes with her attacker, Yamato. "Y-You're alive!"

And mostly okay, too, aside from some small leg wounds. An indulgent, somewhat sad smile rested on her face. "Yes, I am," she said.

Tearing up, Enterprise rushed forward and embraced her wife, sobbing without care. Just about every heart present melted - and then solidified in a hurry when Musashi stomped onto the pier, looking ready to kill something.

"When I found out who sent that report of my sister 'sinking'," Musashi growled, almost too low to hear. "Without verifying, and on an _open channel_ , they're going to wish they were never born!"

~o~

"Well," Admiral Goto sighed, shutting off the video feeds. "Glad that's over with."

"Sooooo... maybe I'm missing something, why didn't we just _tell_ Enterprise that Yamato was alive?" Fubuki asked.

"Do you think she would have listened?" Ooyodo pointed out.

Fubuki turned that over in her head. "No. No, she would not," the destroyer concluded.

"Now that we're done with that, we have one last thing to take care of," Goto stated. Turning around, he eyed Hamakaze, who in contrast to her usual serious demeanor was wide-eyed and hyperventilating into a paper bag. "How to keep Musashi from finding out about Hamakaze and murdering her."


	335. Rule 3130

**Rule 3130. To USN shipgirls: Senator Wreck is not God. That would be SECNAV.  
**  
Kentucky grimaced as she walked down the still-unfamiliar halls of San Diego. Of all the things she expected to find or experience once she got back to civilization, random destroyers and sailors stopping to genuflect at her didn't even make the list. It was unnerving, to be honest.

Spotting New Jersey heading her way, she threw her elder sister a pleading look. Jersey, spotting the look and then the genuflecting, scowled and stomped over to Kentucky's position.

"Alright, morons, stand up!" she bellowed, getting only flinches. "I said STAND UP!" This was accompanied by a concrete-shattering stomp, and everyone scrambled to their feet. "Better. Now, listen up, you maggots: Kentucky isn't Wreck! And even if she is, we worship only one god around here, and that's SECNAV! So if I see anymore bowing and fucking scraping around here, then that person is getting my boot up their ass! Clear?"

Franks raised her hand. New Jersey sighed. "Yes, Franks?"

"So, uh, I know SECNAV is God, but... Wreck's a senator on the committee that's supposed to keep an eye on us. So, hypothetically..."

New Jersey raised an eyebrow, prompting the destroyer to gulp. After a minute, she continued.

 _"Hypothetically,_ if a shipgirl did something... List-worthy... in public..." Franks audibly gulped. "Maybe she could be the Holy Spirit? Or something?"

Silence fell on the hall, silence New Jersey broke after about a minute. "Franks... what the _fuck_ did you do?"

[Do you want that list chronologically or alphabetically?]

Franks screamed, as did more than a few sailors. Even New Jersey tensed up as Wreck walked up to the little gathering.

"Hey Wreck!" Kentucky greeted cheerfully.

[Yo,] Wreck replied, before turning back to Franks. The destroyer was frozen in place, wide-eyed and shivering. [You've been a naughty girl, Franks. A very, very naughty girl.]

Silence. Blessed, aching silence. And then...

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Franks intoned, head pressing against the concrete floor.

[Oh, for the love of- stand up already!] Wreck snapped. [We're taking this somewhere else, and if you value being alive and free, don't do that again!]

"Y-Yes ma'am!"

As destroyer and Abyssal senator (but I repeat myself) trudged off, Kentucky turned to New Jersey. "So, d'you want to know what it is that Franks did?"

"Knowing what kind of crazy shit destroyers can get up to?" New Jersey replied. "Not fucking really."

"Oh, good, so it's not just me."

~o~

Word of Wreck's visits spread fast. Shrines were built, incense was imported from Japan, charm-making boomed as a temporary moneymaking scheme. And then, the hysteria reached a tipping point.

"Mm-Mmph!" Wisconsin protested as four destroyers bore her towards an unknown destination. That she was even _in_ this predicament was embarrassing, but that first-edition RX-78 figurine was just too tempting to resist. The only thing she could do now was wait and see where she was being taken.

When she saw the stone altar, carved statue of _Wreck_ , and robed, knife-wielding maniac, she redoubled her wriggling. No way was she being burned at the stake as some sort of sacrifice!

Somehow, though, the ordinary ropes stood up to her battleship strength, and the destroyers below had no issue carrying her up to the altar. There she was placed, the priest above chanting in a low, guttural voice.

[The fuck is going on here?]

For the first time in her life, Wisconsin was actually glad to see Wreck. The Abyssal stomped through the crowd, up to the altar, and snatched the knife out of the priest's hand.

[Alright, Shangri-La, what's up with the cult ceremony?]

"I-I don't know who-"

One glare, that's all it took. Shangri-La wilted, and Wreck spun on her heel to address the crowd.

[Alright, morons! Since you apparently didn't get the memo, SECNAV is God, not me! Unless you completely fuck up in the presence of civilians! _Then_ I'm God! And I sure as hell don't see any damn civilians around here, now do I?]

"No ma'am!"

[Damn skippy. Now get all this cleaned up.]

As the impromptu cult scurried to do just that, Wreck leaned over Wisconsin and whispered, [Now you owe me.]

It took a moment for Wisconsin to understand, but when she did, she thrashed, and screamed - for all the good it did, still bound up as she was. Grinning, Wreck walked away, her tail throwing one last taunting wink.


	336. Rule 3133

**Rule 3133. To those wanting to volunteer to count how many** ** _Poi_** **Yuudachi can say, don't.  
**  
Duncan, unlike many British destroyer leaders, maintained an open questions policy with her charges. Her destroyers could ask whatever questions they wanted at reasonable hours, and if she didn't know... well, that was for the magic of Google! And not once had she failed to provide an answer, or even regretted the policy!

"Hey, Duncan. How many Pois does Yuudachi say in one day?" HMS Dainty asked.

She was regretting it now. Obviously, she didn't know off the top of her head, but her Google-fu had also failed her. That meant her perfect streak was in jeopardy, and that meant she had only one option: she had to fly to Japan, and conduct a field study!

"Uh, I was just curious," Dainty said. "You don't need to go to that much trouble."

Had she said that out loud? "YES I DO!" Duncan snapped, eyes wildly bloodshot. "My pride as a _leader_ is _at_ stake here!"

Slowly, Dainty backed away, hands up in a warding gesture. "Okay, yeah, I getcha. Let me know when you have the answer, okay?"

Nodding jerkily, Duncan left to go buy plane tickets, while Dainty slipped away in thorough relief.

~o~

 _Three days later, Yokosuka  
_  
"Y'know, I've got a funny feeling, poi."

"What's that?"

"That I'm being watched, poi. It's kinda creepy."

"Eh, you're probably just being paranoid."

"Yeah, probably."

Duncan grinned manically as she crept along, following Yuudachi from behind a line of shrubbery and noting down each poi. Unfortunately, that shrubbery would run out soon, and so Duncan enacted her new plan.

Before I detail what that plan was, it must be pointed out that Duncan hadn't slept in three days and was coming off multiple grueling plan rides, with stopovers in Delhi and Dubai, neither the nicest city around. On top of that she was amped up by a desire that had grown into an obsession.

So when she decided that the best course of action was to sneak up on and hide behind Yuudachi, it was both understandable and utterly daft.

Naturally, Murasame and Shiratsuyu, who were walking with Yuudachi at the time, immediately spotted the British destroyer. The body odor helped, too, drawing in Yuudachi, who pinched her nose and turned around.

For a long moment, the quartet just stood there, staring at each other. Then Duncan suddenly yelled "LOOK! ISN'T THAT HALEY'S COMET?!", accompanied by a finger pointing behind the Japanese destroyers. She also hit Murasame in the process, who did a flop worthy of a professional soccer player and cried out in faux-pain.

The reaction was immediate: a black-clad punch to the face from Yuudachi.

"So I'm not just being paranoid, poi!" Yuudachi exclaimed, staring at the downed Brit.

"Let's get her to Admiral Goto, then," Shiratsuyu decided.

~o~

 _Two days later, Yokosuka  
_  
Yuubari frantically screwed in some of the last few parts, nervously side-eyeing the gun Duncan was pointing at her head.

"You do know that this probably won't work, right?" she said. "I'm a mad scientist, not a miracle worker."

"I'd say that's more your problem than mine," Duncan sneered.

Sighing, Yuubari went back to work, closing up the small poi-counter. And then, she handed it off.

"Yessss..." Duncan hissed, moving her gun away from Yuubari. "Now I can-"

She heard a click behind her, and turned around to find Yuubari pointing _her_ guns at Duncan - and they were more numerous and bigger.

And then the _other_ Yuubari trundled in, gussied up in a suit of power armor bristling with glowing, very large guns.

"Okay, so the endurance test was successful-"

Glowing, very large guns that were now pointed _at her.  
_  
"Shit..." Duncan muttered. "Can this get any worse?"

"Heeeee~eeeey..."


	337. Rule 3134

**Rule 3134: Thanks to what happened last night, country music is hereby banned from the Mess Hall in Norfolk.  
**  
Texas did not stay at Norfolk. She was retired, and in general had very little desire to visit the Virginian city and get tangled up in shipgirl bullshit. Or worse, get press-ganged into helping out in combat. That _didn't_ mean she didn't still influence the culture there. She'd been one of the few battleships there for well over a year before retiring, and some of her personality traits had rubbed off.

*CRUNCH!*

Namely, an appreciation for _actual_ country music.

In the mess hall of Norfolk, a thrown table slowly slid down the wall, bits of speaker and food preceding it. Evarts, the one who'd thrown it, stood where the table had once been, panting and scowling furiously.

"FLORIDA GEORGIA LINE IS NOT COUNTRY MUSIC!" she roared. "REAL COUNTRY MUSIC IS ABOUT MISERY AND DRINKING, AND IS MADE WITH REAL INSTRUMENTS WITH UNTAINTED VOCALS, AND DOES _NOT_ SOUND LIKE A TRUCK COMMERCIAL!"

*WHAM!*

And then down she went, Manlove* standing over her with a dented folding chair.

"That table had our _dinner_ on it, you bitch!" she screeched. "And don't go insulting bro country, the guys look _amazing!"  
_  
As if on cue, the _other_ speakers in the room, which had still been piping in bro country, suddenly began playing Justin Bieber. And not even one of the better Justin Bieber songs. No, it was Mistletoe, thus delivering to the mess a trifecta of suckage: a WGWAG Christmas Justin Bieber song. Screeching like a startled banshee, Manlove grabbed another table and hurled it at another speaker.

"FUCK YOU, I ONLY LISTEN TO _MEN!"_ she roared. "NOT BARNEY THE DINOSAUR IF HE'D BEEN CHEMICALLY CASTRATED!"

Then someone tapped her on the shoulder. Spinning around, Manlove found herself being stared down by the entire Buckley class - and also Nevada.

"You ruined our dinner," they intoned in creepy-ass unison. "Also, them's fightin' words."

"Bring it, you Beliebertards!"

Tension ramped up in the mess, everyone waiting for the inevitable battle to begin - and then speakers began piping in Celine Dion.

Rioting ensued.

~o~

Once again, Wasp was late heading to the mess due to almost forgetting to put on clothes before leaving.

"I gotta remember to not do that," she muttered, opening the door to the mess.

Immediately, she was forced to duck as Babbitt came careening over her head and into the wall. Nervously looking up, the carrier found the mess a state of utter chaos. Four separate food fights were threatening to merge into one massive brawl. Tables and chairs were being steadily broken over steel skulls. And Walker and Atherton were arguing the merits of globalization in between punches.

"Then again, maybe this is a good thing," Wasp muttered, closing the door.

Turning, she walked up to Babbitt, and shook her awake.

"Hey. I know you have a concussion, probably, but can you tell me what started the riot?" she asked the dazed destroyer.

"Bieber... Dion..." Babbitt mumbled, before passing out.

And indeed, listening with one ear, Wasp could hear Celine Dion smoothly transition into Chumbawumba's "Tubthumping" over the speakers in the mess. Certainly that was a much better song than anything Celine Dion, but it had to be riling up the riot even more. Spinning on her heel, Wasp marched off towards the AV room that controlled all that. Whatever prankster was doing this, they were going to pay!

Or not. What Wasp found in the room was no prankster, just an old iPod plugged into the system playing a playlist labelled "The most annoying playlist". Curious, Wasp scrolled forward a bit, blanched, and then hastily yanked the device out of the system.

"This is more than just a prank," she breathed. "This is pure evil!"

 ***AN: Yes, there was an actual destroyer escort with this name. I'm not making this up.**


	338. Rule 3137

**Rule 3137. Repeat after us: Torpedoes are not javelins.**

For the first time since devising the ill-advised Fletcher Volley Supreme maneuver, every single one of the Fletcher class were gathered in one massive lecture hall, all idly speculating on who had called them here. Well, with four exceptions. Their speculation was not idle, nor was it really speculation.

"Okay," Hoel said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So, you didn't call this meeting..."

"Nope," Nicholas shook her head.

"And _you_ didn't call this meeting..."

"Was busy with the pub," O'Bannon replied.

"And _you_ didn't call this meeting..."

"Was planning to, but I hadn't worked out the maneuver yet," USS Taylor answered.

"Then that leaves only one of us who would've called this."

As one, all four destroyers hung their heads and groaned one word. "Fletcher..."

Look, they all loved their big sister, and she was every bit the equal in combat to them and the rest of the more skilled Fletchers, but she could come up with some _seriously_ daft ideas. Like the aforementioned Fletcher Volley Supreme. The quartet pointedly ignored that that had been equipment failure to blame, and resigned themselves to finding out what Fletcher had come up with this time.

So when the destroyer in question wheeled in a cart stacked full of _shields_ , they were confused, but not really surprised.

"Alright!" Fletcher declared. "Now, I know the Fletcher Volley Supreme was a failure-"

"Are you British? Because that's a really fucking big understatement!" O'Bannon barked.

Very maturely sticking her tongue out at the potato destroyer, Fletcher pulled out one of the shields. _"Anyway,_ this maneuver is actually historically sound! The Romans did it!"

The sound of a chair clattering to the floor drew everyone's attention, eyes falling on the now-standing Sigourney. "Wait. You want us to throw our torpedoes like _javelins?!"_

Silence. Then Nicholas raised her hand.

"I like classical history, sue me!"

Nicholas lowered her hand.

"Well, that's one step-" Fletcher admitted, whereupon everyone in the room tried to speak at once.

"They're not oxygen torpedoes, dummy! They don't go boom that easy!"

"Huddling behind shields? What are we, cowards?"

"There's a perfectly good engine on the fish!"

"Look, I like swords as much as the next gal, but they're an emergency weapon, not something I wanna be relying on all day erryday."

"I'd look terrible in horsehair plume!"

"SHUT UP!"

Everyone did. William D. Porter, source of the shout, nodded. "Alright, after conferring with Sigourney, there's one question we need to ask before we do anything else." Adjusting her glasses, she pointed at the cart full of shields. "Can those actually help protect us?"

"No worries!" Fletcher boast, pounding one of the shields for a deep reverberation effect. "These are two inches of the finest American steel money can buy! Nothing-"

*BLAM!*

Fletcher yelped as a round smacked into the shield, and glared at Johnston, who had her rigging up and one of her 40mm guns smoking.

"Yo, watch it! You could've hit me!" Fletcher snapped.

"Might wanna look at the shield before you get all indignant," Johnston shot back.

Fletcher did so, and then blanched at the deep crater in the shield, as well as the spiderweb of cracks running up and down it.

"Yeah, if the Bofors almost went through that thing, I don't wanna be trusting it against anything bigger," Johnston said, sitting down.

"I rest my case," Willy Dee nodded.

"Bah! I'll show you!" Fletcher declared. "I'll show all of you!" And with that, she stomped out.

For a good two minutes nobody said anything. Then...

"I'm gonna go get some food," Bearss announced.

"I've got cards!" De Haven added.

And with that, the destroyers settled in to wait for Fletcher to come back. She would; the idea was daft and they knew it, which meant she would fail to "show them all", and then come back with her tail between her legs. Classic Fletcher.

Sure enough, about a half hour later, Fletcher limped back in, clothing in tatters and swollen bruises, contusions, and cuts littering her body.

"So, how'd 'showing us all' go?" Schroeder snarked.

"It didn't go so well..." Fletcher sniffled.


	339. Rule 3139

**Rule 3139. RN ship girls are to stop pestering the USN ship girls about the ice cream makers in their rigs.  
**  
HMS Resource hummed happily as she poked through Tuscaloosa's rigging. Yes, happily. The thrill of discovery was not dead, not yet, and seeing how the Americans did things was a treat. No lamenting the lack of senior designers back in the 1930s with this rigging set, nope!

The lack of ammunition safety interlocks was a tad worrying, though.

In any case, Resource had long since finished with the turrets and was going through the rest of the rigging to make sure everything was in its proper place. And then... she found it. Angels sang out in a resounding chorus. Holy light shone down on her. There, in front of her, was Tuscaloosa's ice cream machine. Slowly, reverently, Resource pulled out the device, and then frantically scrambled to hide it.

She'd just gotten it stowed away when Tuscaloosa showed up, fully repaired but not changed out of her swimsuit yet.

"How's it looking?" she asked.

"Ah... just need to close it up and it'll be ready!"

Nodding, Tuscaloosa trotted off, and Resource breathed a sigh of relief before getting back to work. Hopefully, the cruiser wouldn't notice.

And for a moment, Resource thought she would get away with the theft, as Tuscaloosa pulled on her rigging without a care in the world. Once it was settled in, though, the cruiser blinked, and then frowned, turning the repair ship's way.

"Hey, could you reinstall my ice cream machine?" she asked.

Sweat beaded on Resource's brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tuscaloosa blinked. "I see." Then, in an instant, she was up in Resource's face, looming over the repair ship. "Let me rephrase: give me back my ice cream machine before I turn your organs into jelly."

Shakily, Resource pointed at the hiding spot, and suddenly Tuscaloosa was all Southern politeness again. "Thank you kindly."

~o~

Word, naturally, spread through the Royal Navy. Combined with news of ice cream riots in the US, the British shipgirls took the hint: don't touch the ice cream machines, or the Americans touch you. Most of the French Navy also got the memo, from the Royal Navy, from the American task group posted to the Mediterranean, and from the Italians, who were just as mad about gelato as the Americans were about ice cream.

Most.

Pity the Force de Raid tended to get the news slowly, and that the Brits really didn't like talking to them. Otherwise, Mogador and Volta _might_ not have tried to jump Philadelphia for her ice cream machine when she pulled into Dakar.

*THWACK!*

They were met by a sockful of D batteries.

"- and stomp you until you can be fucking _mailed!"_ Philadelphia snarled, repeatedly bringing her foot down on Mogador's skull. "You don't touch the ice cream machine! Not ever! And as for you-" She reached over her shoulder for Volta, who was sucking on part of her rigging in a futile attempt to get ice cream. "Get _off_ , you stupid little barnacle!"

Grabbing Volta by the hair, she yanked the destroyer off, slammed her on top of Mogador, and went to town with the sock.

Some distance away, Montcalm and Gloire watched the proceedings, wondering if they should join in.

"I think we could take her," Montcalm said.

"I'd rather not find out," Gloire countered. "And besides, she does have a legit grievance."

Both cruisers winced as the battery-filled sock came down again.

"Then again, we don't want dock time for those two if we can avoid it."

"Fight it is!"


	340. Rule 3143

**Rule 3143: Do not fuck with the IRS cause it doesn't matter who or what your are, you're still have to pay taxes, as show by what happened with Senator Wreck.  
**  
Ayase, Allied Abyssal and best friend to Chester, loved human life. The food, the shopping - even holding a job was fun! Mostly because she'd gotten to work cashier at not a chain, but a personally-owned deli located near UC San Diego. The owner was quite happy to let her glare intractable customers into submission.

Then came tax season.

[Uhhhhh...] she groaned, thunking her head on the keyboard of her laptop. On the screen was a bewildering array of tabs, each explaining a different part of the tax code, or a different tax form, or what have you.

"Just use Turbotax. It'll probably be free to you."

Glancing up, Ayase eyed Chester, who was wearing a bathrobe, bunny slippers, and holding a cup of coffee. Slowly, the Allied Abyssal's tired brain made the connection, and her head returned to the keyboard's loving embrace. [I pulled an all-nighter, didn't I,] she groaned. [Ugh, why can't I just ignore the taxes?]

"Because then the IRS comes after you, and trust me, nobody wants that," Chester pointed out.

Ayase frowned. [How bad could they be?]

Chester shrugged. "Ask Iowa sometime. Or hell, ask Wreck. I heard she's entering her first tax season, too." On anyone else, the grin that followed would have been _evil_. "I'm sure she's enjoying that."

~o~

[PUTTING A SHELL ON TARGET 40,000 YARDS AWAY IS EASIER THAN FIGURING OUT THIS SHIT!]

Sighing, because she really didn't want to have to do this, President Jackson poked her head into the room where Wreck had started on her taxes that morning. It was now late afternoon, and shouts like that had been filtering out the whole time.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to hire a tax accountant?" she asked. "Or at least use one of the tax softwares, they're not _that_ expensive."

[No!] Wreck snarled. [I'm not going to be defeated by this! Besides, I could do this _easily_ if I didn't have to dig through all these records, and if the people I trusted with my investments weren't _witless morons!]_ Grabbing one account summary, she waved it in President Jackson's face. [Like this! When the fuck did I get _horses_ , and who thought they'd be a good investment?!]

Wreck's campaign manager raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, you foisted off all management of your investment accounts on someone else and said, and I quote, 'I don't wanna be fucking disturbed with this shit'," she dryly stated. "Also, that's an investment in a horse _farm,_ which is a much more sensible investment."

Sighing, Wreck drove her head into the table. [Yeah, I know. I mentally punch myself in the face for being so stupid every hour.] Pulling her head back up, Wreck went back to work. [Well, nose to the grindstone again. Don't want the IRS after me.]

The other eyebrow joined its sister. "You're worried about the _IRS?"  
_  
[Why wouldn't I be?] Wreck absently replied. [I've put myself in their power. Willingly, and I don't regret it, but I'm still under their power. And if you're under the IRS's jurisdiction, you'd have to be baying-at-the-moon bonkers to defy them.]

~o~

"Aren't you going to get your taxes done?" Hoel asked.

"Nah, fuck the IRS!" Johnston said, flipping a patch of ceiling the bird. "You can take my hard-earned dosh if you can pry it out of my cold, dead fingers!"


	341. Rule 3151

**Rule 3151: Do not call Bismarck a guy.  
**  
"Doesn't German refer to ships by _male_ pronouns?"

At that innocent question, an image ran through Hood's mind, an image of Bismarck in her usual outfit, including sans pants - except male. And ripped. He looked disturbingly like Olympic and Titanic, something she was not going to be mentioning to anyone. _Ever_.

 _'I guess that answers one question,'_ Hood thought to herself, absently wiping away the blood that had leaked out of her nose. _'I'm either bisexual, or Bismarcksexual. Either way, it's an interesting revelation.'  
_  
Shaking her head to dispel the image, she turned to answer HMS Quiberon, who'd asked the question, only to find that Bismarck had taken it upon herself to berate the destroyer for "calling her a man". Handy, that. The situation apparently under control, she unfocused, calling up some images for an... experiment.

First, one of the many swimsuit models she'd seen in the catalogues, specifically modeling a skimpy bikini. Nothing. She swapped it out for a male model in a Speedo. Also nothing.

Substitute Bismarck, male or female? Hood had to pull out her collar and fan herself.

Then she noticed the convoy was under fire, and that _she_ was out of position.

"Hood, you useless lesbian!" Repulse shouted. "Get your ass into position!"

"Not a lesbian!" Hood shouted as she did just that. "Bisexual!"

"Who cares, just _start shooting!"  
_  
Soon, Hood was in position and shooting. It very quickly struck her how odd these Abyssals were. Besides their gunfire, they were also volleying insults.

"Your mother wears army boots!"

"Go home to mommy!"

"Isn't Bismarck a _boy's_ name?"

Not that they were very good at it.

Suddenly, Hood heard a sound not unlike a steam whistle, and then Bismarck charged right past her, expression fit for a charging bull.

"Uh, should we stop her?" Repulse wondered.

"Nah, let her get this out of her system," Hood decided.

She was not disappointed; Bismarck plowed through the shells sent her way, whereupon she grabbed one of the enemy battleships and used her as a bludgeon on another, punctuating each blow with a cry of "Man!", "A!", or "Not!" Within a dozen blows, both Abyssals were basically jelly, but Bismarck continued to beat the dead bodies.

"Stop, stop, they're already dead!" Roebuck wailed.

Bismarck, splattered with gore, paused, the misshapen corpse of an Abyssal still held above her head. Blushing, she dropped it and rejoined the convoy, the remaining Abyssals having sensibly retreated.

"If you tell _anyone_ about this," she hissed. "Your fate will be the same as those Abyssals'."

"My lips are sealed," Repulse stated, the destroyers adding frantic nods.

~o~

Admiral Hartmann paused in his paperwork as his door opened, looking up to find Tirpitz in full Elsa cosplay standing in his door, looking hesitant.

"Come in, come in," he said, nudging the chair in front of his desk with his foot. Slowly, Tirpitz walked in and sat down. "So, what can I do for you?"

Shifting nervously, Tirpitz took a few minutes to compose her thoughts. "I invited Bismarck to a convention..." she said. "But apparently there are a lot of male cosplayers of her, and she refuses to go because of them. Could you... do something about that?"

Hartmann didn't immediately answer; an image of a male cosplayer of Bismarck had popped up in his brain, and it would definitely be entering the nightmare rotation. "I did not need that mental image..." he muttered, before speaking up. "I'm afraid I can't do anything. Even if you convinced the government to pass a law to that end, it would be smacked down faster than you can say 'battleship'. As it should be. We've all seen where restricting freedoms just because we're uncomfortable leads."

Grimacing, Tirpitz let her head hang. "I was afraid of that..." she sighed. Then she perked up. "Maybe if I let her beat them up..."

"Tirpitz, no."

"Tirpitz, yes!"


	342. Rule 3153

**Rule 3153. To whomever showed 'Fury Road' to Campbeltown, we'll be taking the frequent resummoning consumables out of** ** _your_** **paycheque. Consider yourself** ** _miraculously lucky_** **she keeps her memories after each incident and subsequent resummon.  
**  
For once, Hood and Campbeltown were _not_ on the same convoy. The battlecruiser, along with Repulse and her similar-vintage powerplant, had come down with a case of condenser trouble, sidelining them for at least a week. That didn't mean Campbeltown couldn't get into trouble on her own, though. Especially since _this_ bunch of Abyssals were pressing right into the convoy screen.

Oh, yeah, and she'd attended a screening of Mad Max: Fury Road the night before.

Eyeing the incoming Abyssals, Campbeltown grinned, and grabbed two things off her belt. The first was a pair of torpedoes, and the second was a spray-can of gray paint. Spraying the paint over her mouth and nose, she brandished the torpedoes in her two hands and then charged right at the cargo ship nearest the Abyssal charge. Clambering up the side, she sprinted across the deck and then leaped off.

 _"WITNESS ME!"  
_  
Shells tore at her form, and then she landed on the cruiser leading the charge, the torpedo warheads detonating on contact - followed shortly by the cruiser's magazines going up.

 _"CAMPBELTOWN!"_ the entire British screen shouted in horror. Several destroyers surged to the spot, both to beat off the Abyssals still aimlessly milling in the area, and also to try and save their comrade. They succeeded in the first.

They failed in the second.

~o~

The return of the convoy escort - miserable and bedraggled - and the news of Campbeltown's loss sent shockwaves through the world's navies. The mad destroyer was the first shipgirl to have been lost in the conflict... _somehow._ It shattered the invincible feeling all had felt without knowing like it was spun glass, and sent large chunks of the Royal Navy and US Navy into despondent mourning.

And it had also triggered a contingency plan the Admirals had come up with early in the war, and had honestly expected to have to use sooner than this.

That was why Admiral Graham was parked in the summoning chamber with Royal Oak, eyeing a mound of summoning materials sitting in the circle below.

"I hope this works," he muttered as an Anglican priest began the ceremony.

Soon enough, the circle lit up, flashed - and there was Campbeltown, a shit-eating grin on her face.

"Woo! Now _that's_ a rush!" she crowed.

Graham's eyes widened. "Wait, you remember your life as a shipgirl?"

"Er, yeah?" Campbeltown replied. "Why wouldn't I?"

Feeling Royal Oak's eyes on his back, he dodged. "No reason. Wanna go meet everyone again?"

"Heck yeah!"

~o~

Two weeks later, after the next convoy run, Graham was treated to the sight of a shellshocked Hood wandering into his office.

"Did you know that shipgirls can just... explode into chunky salsa?" she intoned. "Because I didn't. That was a surprise."

"Yes, you've told me three times," Graham sighed. "Go to O'Bannon's and get as drunk as you need to. Or go bother Bismarck. I have work to do." Under his breath, he muttered, "Re-summoning that mad destroyer. Again."

Hood nodded, and padded out. Admiral Graham stood and exited himself a few minutes later, but not to go to the summoning chamber. Instead, he was planning to find whoever it was that had shown the destroyers Fury Road.

Ironically, it was Hood who found her first, drowning her sorrows at O'Bannon's.

"I'm... *hic* sush a monshter..." Effingham slurred. "I... s-showed 'er dat... *hic* movie... 'n now she'sh trapped... *hic* in a cycle of life and death..."

"Did you know that shipgirls can just... explode into chunky salsa?" Hood said dully.

"I know, right?!" Effingham suddenly exploded, beer splashing all over the place. "And 's all my fault! I should never have been born..." Sobs wracked her body as she slammed her head against the bar, O'Bannon wincing at the creaking of the wood and varnish.

"Did you know that-"

*SPLASH*

"Thank you," Hood said, brushing her dripping wet bangs out of her eyes. "I needed that. And that reminds me-"

Turning to Effingham, she gave the cruiser a solid poke in the ribs, sending her crashing to the floor. "Ow..."

"That's for showing that to Campbeltown!"


	343. Rule 3156

**Rule 3156. The Culture Night Potluck's lenient rules are not an excuse to bring hazardous food such as fugu, hákarl, or casu marzu.  
**  
By Navy regulations, potluck night required medical personnel on standby in case something went terribly wrong. In this case, it was a hospital ship instead of a repair ship, both because there were human guests in attendance at the Iceland Conference, and also because shipgirl digestive systems had more in common with human digestive systems than their old steam plants. Sometimes.

At the very least, Britannic mused, she didn't have to actually _attend._ Titanic had been very vocal about the shenanigans that had gone on at the last big cooking event for shipgirls.

Naturally, that was when Repulse and Houston burst in carrying the paralyzed, blue-skinned form of Iceland's president between them.

"Help!"

"Put him on the table! What did he eat?" Britannic ordered and then asked as she scrambled to set up the life support system and stomach pump.

"Akagi was the Japanese representative, and she brought _fugu!"_ Repulse answered, half-angered and half-panicked.

Britannic paused, and then returned to scrambling, grabbling a bottle of activated charcoal pills as she went.

"Out!" she barked once the president was on the table. Both shipgirls scurried out, and Britannic went to work.

Finally, about thirty minutes later, the president was set up with life support, his stomach emptied and then filled with the charcoal, and was as safe as he was going to be, with fugu. Slumping in a chair, she pulled out her phone as it pinged. Krasnyi Kavkaz had sent her a message, it seemed.

Opening it up, her eyes widened. "What the-!"

~o~

The party had resumed after Houston and Repulse returned from dropping off the president, which meant Giuseppe Garibaldi stepped up to present her dish.

"I present a genuine Sardinian delicacy!" she declared, before whipping the cloth off the dish. "Casu marzu cheese with flatbread!"

For a long moment, there was silence as everyone took in the cheese.

"Wait just a goddamn minute, are those fucking _maggots?!"_ Houston demanded.

"I distinctly remember casu marzu being _illegal_ under EU regulations," the prime minister added.

"Details!" Garibaldi said, waving her hand. "So! Who wants to try it first?"

Everyone shuffled around, not willing to move, and then Pluton jabbed Houston in the back, shoving her out of the crowd.

"Thanks for volunteering, Houston!"

"Dammit!"

Reluctantly stepping up to the cheese, Houston took a cracker and cheese knife and, at the instruction of Garibaldi, cut off a thin sliver and placed it on her cracker - and then Garibaldi grabbed a bunch of the maggots and placed them on the cheese. Gulping audibly, Houston pinched her nose and stuffed the entire thing in her mouth, chewing as fast as possible. Then she swallowed, and opened her mouth-

And several of the maggots jumped out of the cheese and into her mouth.

Houston screamed, spitting out the maggots and then stomping on them, but that didn't cover up the sound of gunfire from inside her.

"W-What's happening?" one of the officials present wondered.

"At a guess? Houston's fairies are 'repelling boarders'," Kavkaz answered.

Eventually, the gunfire stopped, and Houston, panting heavily, turned a glare on Garibaldi. She stalked to the other cruiser, grabbing the block of cheese as she went, and in one smooth motion grabbed Garibaldi, pulled her in close, and then shoved the hunk of cheese into her mouth.

Miraculously, it fit.

"Suck on _that_ for a while and see how you like it!"


	344. Rule 3157

**Rule 3157. To ALL ship girls from ALL navies, do not, we repeat, DO NOT approach the waters belong to the Middle Eastern countries. Those guy are rather..."sensitive" with issues about women and clothing.  
**  
Graf Spee breathed in through her nose and let it out in a happy sigh. Yes, this was the life, cruising through the Indian Ocean, and with company, even! She and Exeter had met up in Cape Town, both heading for the Indian Ocean after a sweep through the South Atlantic, and had agreed to operate together for a bit. Graf Spee had shown off her favorite haunts in East Africa, Exeter had returned her own favorite spots in India, and now they were cruising back for Africa around the south coast of the Arabian peninsula.

Unfortunately, the good times were marred by the nuisance of persistent Saudi surveillance, as per usual in this stretch of ocean. E-3s, P-8s, even RQ-4 drones flying a bare 10,000 feet above them.

"This usually happen?" Exeter asked.

"Yes, unfortunately," Graf Spee sighed. "The Saudis are paranoid. Not that I blame them, not after that Abyssal parked itself outside of Mecca."

That had been a resounding embarrassment for the Saudis, and frankly didn't reflect well on the forces doing the direct fighting, either. Letting an Abyssal even get that close to Saudi Arabia? On the shipgirl forces. Letting it ashore and up to Mecca without detection, and then failing to even _kill_ it? That was on the Saudis. Compounding the embarrassment was that the Saudis had ended up shooting off half their _strategic missile stocks_ at it, begging the question of why they didn't task their many Strike Eagles and Tornados to do the job.

Regardless, afterwards the Saudis had opened the checkbook on maritime surveillance assets and additional strike fighters, and then obsessively watched their coasts. And Yemen's. Speaking of embarrassing...

Suddenly, a bright streak caught the eye of both cruisers. Whatever it was, it was _fast_ , and arcing straight towards-

"Hit the deck!" Graf Spee yelped, cranking up the RPMs and throwing her rudder in a sharp turn. Exeter, slower on the ball, jumped. And not a moment too soon, as a massive missile crashed into the ocean a bare thirty yards away from the two, before exploding quite spectacularly.

"What the hell?!" Exeter yelped. "What was _that?!"  
_  
"That was a Saudi ballistic missile," Graf Spee growled, cueing up her radio. "And they better have one hell of a good explanation for-"

Suddenly, the radio connected, but not from anything Graf Spee had done. Instead, it was coming straight from the Saudis.

 _"Western whores!"_ the very angry voice shouted. _"I will not let your bared skin tempt the faithful into sin! Or astray from the one true faith! Allahu Akbar!"  
_  
As the rant continued, Exeter glanced in confusion at Graf Spee. "Does _this_ usually happen?" Exeter asked.

"No," Graf Spee said, eyeing Exeter's outfit, with its nun headwear and sleeveless minidress and thigh-length garter stockings. Then she glanced down at her own outfit. Still the same sensible dress top with knee-length pencil skirt and pantyhose. "Why are you dressed like that, anyway?"

It was a fair question. The nun headgear she knew had come from Exeter's side job as an exorcist, but the rest...

The cruiser shrugged. "It's hot." Then she cocked her head. "Wow, is he _still_ going?"

 _"- And may Allah stone you with-!"  
_  
Suddenly, the angry voice vanished, drowned out by another one. _"Ahmed! What do you think you're doing?!"_

"Wha- commander! What are-"

 _"Answer the_ fucking _question, Ahmed!"_

 _"B-But it's not my fault! They-!"_

 _"Are our_ fucking _allies who keep the thrice-damned Abyssal demons off our shores, and you just_ shot _at them! With twenty million dollars of the king's money!"_

 _"I-I, uh..."_

"OUT!"

Silence, except for a scraping chair. Then the second voice came back on.

 _"I apologize a thousand times for that man's behavior."  
_  
"W-Well, uh, nobody got hurt, so... no harm done?" Exeter offered.

 _"I thank you. But I also recommend you steam south. Command is... jumpy right now."  
_  
"We'll do that," Graf Spee said, at which point the line went dead.

The two cruisers turned and, indeed, steamed south, pondering over the events that had just occurred.

"We have to tell _someone_ about this," Graf Spee stated.

"Well, it just so happens that I have the number of a US Senator who's on the committee that helps manage shipgirl affairs," Exeter said.

Who- ah. Wreck. Graf Spee let herself imagine how Wreck would react to such news, and a dopey grin spread over her face.

"Do it," she said. "Now, how do you feel about visiting a tropical island chain?"

"I'm so there!"


	345. Rule 3162

**Rule 3162. Age of Sail ship girls, please stop "obtaining" leather boots and eating them when you're low on supplies. We have replenishment ships and ship girls for a reason.  
**  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

All of Norfolk nearly jumped out of their skin at the anguished shout that echoed through the base. Shock turned to panic as everyone realized that it was _Constitution_ doing the screaming. Everyone shot to their feet, ready to go charging to help-

"HOLD IT!"

Only for Ranger to silence them all with a colossal bellow.

"We are _not_ all stampeding to Constitution all at once!" she declared. "I will go find out what's happening! _You_ lot are going to go back to what you were doing! Clear?"

With some mild grumbling, the fleet did just that, leaving Ranger to heave a sigh of relief and try to calm her pounding heart on the way to Constitution's room. Opening the door, she found a scene of devastation: shoes _everywhere,_ spilling out of the closet, with Constitution right in the center sobbing her eyes out.

"What happened?" Ranger asked urgently.

"My shoes!" Constitution wailed, seemingly unaware of Ranger's presence.

The carrier eyed the shoes scattered all over the place. If something had happened to Constitution's shoes... good God, how many did she _have?  
_  
"What happened to your shoes?"

"Indefatigable and Victory burst and just... took them! All of them!" Flopping on the ground, the frigate sobbed harder than ever. "Summer is coming and I have no leather shoes!"

Huh. Taking another look around, Ranger noted that there was, indeed, a conspicuous lack of leather shoes. "Why would they do that?" she muttered.

Constitution heard that. Constitution stopped her sobbing and wailing, and began to think. And then Constitution came to a conclusion.

"THOSE BITCHES ARE GOING TO _EAT_ THEM!" And before Ranger could recover from the sudden outburst, Constitution shot to her feet and ran out the door.

The carrier blinked. "Okay then. I wouldn't want to be those two right now."

~o~

Victory, Indefatigable, and Trincomalee had just finished stowing away their emergency supplies when they heard a knock at their door.

"Who is it?" Victory called.

"It's me, Warrior. Can I come in?"

"Sure!"

The ironclad stepped in, and did a double-take at the sight of the mountain of leather shoes and boots. "What the- I thought they were joking! What's with all the shoes?"

"We're stockpiling leather in case supplies run low," Trincomalee answered.

Sighing, Warrior pinched the bridge of her nose. "You girls _do_ know we have competent supply organizations, right? We're not going to be running out of food."

"Ah, but the convoys!" Indefatigable smugly answered. "The Abyssals get one too many convoys, and suddenly we're all starving!"

"That's- buh-" Warrior helplessly searched for the words, "But the convoys don't even _carry_ food!" clashing with "We'd be the priority in any sort of rationing scheme!" A hand clapped onto her shoulder, and she looked over it straight into Victory's eyes.

"I know you served in a time of plenty, but you'll thank us later," Victory said, a kind but somewhat condescending smile on her face.

Warrior's face shifted into careful neutrality. "Y'know..." she said. "I was gonna be the diplomatic one, try to resolve this peacefully." The neutrality vanished, leaving malicious glee behind. _"Fuck that._ I'm going to enjoy this. Oh, gi~rls~, it's your turn!"

A size seven hobnailed boot smashed down the door, and Constitution strode in, followed by Droits de L'Homme and then a newcomer.

"Hi, I'm Vasa," she said, cracking her knuckles. "You took my shoes. Prepare to die."

The British trio exchanged glances - and then Indefatigable bolted for the window, shouting "You'll never take me alive!"

She never made it. Constitution's hand wrapped and the frigate's ankle and brought her crashing down to earth.

Victory, meanwhile, went on the offensive, only for Vasa and Droits to each punch her square in the face. For a moment, she stood tall, and then she fell to the ground like some massive, ancient oak tree.

With Constitution stomping Indefatigable's head into the floor, that just left Trincomalee to face Vasa and Droits, not a fair match even under the best of circumstances. So she did the only thing she could.

She threw herself at their feet and prostrated. "I'm sorry, I was wrong, please don't hurt me!"


	346. Rule 3165

**Rule 3165. Whoever made the various naval bases into Pokestops, congratulations. You've just "volunteered" yourself to to help prepare a multi-course meal for the Age of Sail ship girls' gathering. The old fashion way.  
**  
Akigumo put the last finishing touches on her latest doujin and, barely waiting for the ink to dry, rushed it over to her scanner so she could get it sent to the publisher. The reason for this urgency was that the destroyer had cut things closer than usual, with barely two hours to go to the deadline. Just waiting for the pages to scan was agonizing.

Finally, they scanned, and the destroyer quickly had them all shuffled into a folder and then pulled up her email program, attaching the folder. A hastily-typed message later, and she hit send.

Immediately, the loading circle popped up on her browser. And didn't go away.

"Oh, nonononononono..." Akigumo feverishly muttered, tearing at her hair. "No, don't do this to me!" Shifting her cursor down to the toolbar, she right-clicked on the wifi icon and then hit the troubleshooting opetion. "Come on... come on..."

The troubleshooting ended, helpfully informing her that the wifi network was down.

"Fuck! Shitty tits ass motherdick piss!"

Hurling a pen cup at the nearest wall, Akigumo stomped out to go find someone she could bully into fixing the wifi.

~o~

 _"And then, when Wreck finishes tearing this poor bastard to shreds, she threatens to have the allied Ta-class battleships do a patrol there."  
_  
"That is a very amusing mental image," Kirishima agreed. On her computer screen via the magic of Skype, Washington nodded.

 _"I know, right? Exeter's outfit isn't exactly_ modest _, but it has nothing on that sailor top and thong combo."_ A pause. _"Who_ do _they wear that, anyway? The Ru and Wo classes are more sensibly dressed."  
_  
Kirishima shrugged. "Don't ask me."

 _"Bah, it's a mystery, then."_ Washington leaned back, letting out a deep sigh, and then suddenly a lecherous grin spread over her face. _"Oh, speaking of, while I have you here, I want to show you this new outfit I got. I think you'll like it."  
_  
Intrigued, Kirishima leaned forward as Washington left to go rummage in her closet. Any outfit that could be connected to a Ta-class' outfit was of... extreme relevance to her interests.

 _"Ah-ha!"_ Washington faintly crowed - right as the connection dropped and Skype went dead.

"What?! No!" Kirishima yelped, grabbing her computer and shaking it. The battleship quickly ran through her options.

It should be noted that, for all her smarts, Kirishima did _not_ understand computers. So her first thought was to make an offering of rice to the kami of the machine, but some quick fiddling proved that the computer itself was working just fine. That meant plan B.

Pulling out her phone, she called Washington on Facetime. When she appeared on screen, it was while wearing the _smallest_ pair of denim shorts Kirishima had ever seen, cut high on the legs and low on the waist and held together at the side not by solid cloth but by string straps. Oh, and a white crop top, too, but that barely registered.

 _"What happened?"_ Washington asked in obvious concern. _"You cut out on me."  
_  
"Buh."

~o~

"Look, no, guys, I get it, dive comp is dominating the professional meta and you want more variety," Naka said as she guided her character through the ongoing brawl in the center of the map. "But the pro scene isn't all of Overwatch, and the casual scene is... well, basically everyone picking the character they like. Yes, Blizzard may need to do something about dive comp, and from what I've heard they're working on it, but that can't come at the expense of the main playerbase. It's a complicated process, so give them some time, m'kay?"

An evil grin came over her face as she circled Tracer around a clump of big, slow enemy characters. "Plus, the salt from the guys who think they're smart for triple-tanking is just _great."  
_  
Sure enough, much salt flowed over the in-game chat - and then the game, her stream, and everything else suddenly cut out.

"What the fuck?!" Naka yelped, throwing up a few commands. "The wi-fi's out?! Why is the wi-fi out?!"

~o~

That was the question on Admiral Goto's mind, too. At least his email would be safe.

"Weird..." he muttered. He was just about to call tech support-

"ADMIRAL!"

Only for Aoba to come tumbling through his door.

"Pokestop! Players! _Mewtwo!"_ she gasped in between sucking air.

Goto's eyes widened. A Pokestop?! Here?! And a- wait a minute.

 _"Where's_ the Mewtwo?" he queried. "Because Pokestops don't... actually have Pokemon to catch. I'm pretty sure."

"It's... in the sea park... next door..." Aoba panted.

Ah. Now things made more sense. Thousands of fans, trekking back and forth between the park and the base, leaching off the wi-fi to keep cell phone bills down. That sort of thing had crashed wi-fi networks in Australia before. Now, how to drive them off...

"Admiral!" Inazuma said as she skidded in, positive electrical streamers trailing behind her. "Tenryuu told me to tell you that she's going to go disperse that crowd!"

"That works." A savage grin spread over Goto's face. "Now, to find whoever designated this base a Pokestop..."


	347. Rule 3167

**Rule 3167. Yes, Almirante Latorre is the older sister of HMS Eagle. Yes, she served a short stint in the Royal Navy during WW1. No, turning her into the very model of a British carrier, rigging and all, is not the answer to Eagle's wish to reunite with her sister. Now undo the process before the Chileans hear of the armored aircraft carrier HMS Canada and make the connection to their missing battleship.  
**  
Eagle sighed, staring off the southwest. This did not go unnoticed by her fellow shipgirls, but most of them at this point knew not to pry. Even the Frogs, when the visited, didn't do that, at least, not after Revenge had given Strasbourg an attitude adjustment.

And they were also some of the few who knew _why_ she did that, seeing as most of the Portsmouth fleet consisted of WWI veterans. They remembered old HMS Canada, the enthusiastic Chilean battleship they had fought alongside - and who was also Eagle's sister from when she was known as Almirante Cochrane.

It was sad, but what could you do? That Chilean battleship, Almirante Latorre, was busy operating in the South Pacific covering the Polynesian islands, while the Admiralty was utterly paranoid about letting Eagle sortie, though not without reason. Eagle was, sad to say, slow and outdated with a minimal airgroup. Most light carriers would slaughter her. And unlike France, the Royal Navy wasn't completely hard up for carriers. And then there were the recent incidents with Campbeltown.

Well, considering we're talking about shipgirls, eventually someone decided that no, this was not going to stand and that they were going to do something about it.

Fun times.

~o~

Almirante Latorre yawned as she slowly steamed through the waters outside Vanuatu alongside a Chinese frigate. Ugh. Patrols. So boring. Better than fighting Abyssal battleships - nine inches of armor was _not_ enough - but still boring.

Suddenly, she spotted something sitting on the water about two hundred yards to port, so small. Curious, she steamed over to it.

It was a cupcake. Frosted with chocolate frosting, and liberally coated with sprinkles. Drool pooled in her cheeks, and she licked her lips. Sugar. Something she'd had not nearly enough of, either in Chile or Vanuatu. Leaning over - and incidentally giving the seamen on the frigate a great view - Latorre picked up the cupcake and tossed it in her mouth. An assault of sweetness hit her tastebuds, and she moaned in pleasure.

Then she spotted another dessert treat in the distance. She steamed up to that one and scarfed it down, too.

Within a surprisingly short time, Latorre was miles away from the frigate, at which point two figures zipped out from a nearby atoll and landed a sack over her body.

"Should we really be doing this?" Royal Sovereign said after giving Latorre a bump on the head to keep her quiet.

"Bah, you've seen how Eagle gets," Vanessa scoffed. "It'll all work out, you'll see. Now, let's get back to Britain."

~o~

Waking came slowly to Almirante Latorre. Not helping this was the fact that it was very cold, wherever she was sleeping. Slowly, she shifted in place, ice clinking toge-

Ice?!

Shooting upright, Latorre found herself sitting naked in a bathtub full of ice. Patting her lower back didn't reveal the incisions that would indicate stolen kidneys, so that was good, but something was... missing. Something she could easily articulate.

Well, no matter. She was a battleship! Standing, she summoned her rigging, as much to cover herself up, and-

Wait.

Where were her gun turrets.

Why did she have this flight deck strapped to one arm.

 _"What the fuck is going on here?!"_

~o~

"I knew this was a bad idea!" Royal Sovereign wailed under the penetrating glares of Eagle and a much-refreshed Resource.

Vanessa, pinned beneath the boots of Hyatt and Orella, could only mumble into the concrete.


	348. Rule 3177

**Rule 3177. Ambidextrous ship girls are not to use that to show off.  
**  
"Shiranui, I've got an idea."

Shiranui groaned, but reluctantly put down her book and turned her attention to Kagero. "What crazy caper did you cook up now?"

"I'm hurt!" Kagero pouted. "It's like you think I'm some loon running around doing stupid things."

Shiranui arched an eyebrow.

"Anyway, you don't need to worry!" Kagero continued, blithely ignoring her sister's reaction in favor of pulling something out of her pocket. "I didn't come up with this one, I just found it and thought it'd be fun to try!"

In Kagero's hand was a flyer, advertising a... eating competition? Yeah, an eating competition. Specifically, a speed test with chopsticks for noodles. Oh, and Akagi was specifically banned.

"Seems interesting," Shiranui remarked. "But that doesn't explain why you're so excited."

"Oh, sister," Kagero tutted, waggling her finger. "Note the rules. Most people are single-handed, so they'll be using one pair of chopsticks..."

"But we're ambidextrous," Shiranui realized, eyes widening. "Double the speed!" Then she frowned. "Can we really multitask like that?"

"Pfft, it's eating noodles," Kagero scoffed. "How much brainpower does that take?"

~o~

Not much, as it turned out. After showing up to the competition alongside a mix of sailors and shipgirls, the destroyers had requested two bowls each. Mamiya, the judge, gave them an odd look but handed them over. Immediately, the two set to work, practically inhaling the noodles from their bowls. Very quickly, it became clear that in any sort of fair competition, the two were going to destroy their opponents.

And so, Nagara, sitting to Shiranui's left, darted in, chopsticks going for the destroyer's noodles. They were met by Shiranui's chopsticks, the wooden utensils clacking together. Eyes narrowed, and Nagara returned to the attack, Shiranui expertly parrying, at one point even yanking noodles from Nagara's bowl. And even as the two entered a duel of chopsticks, Shiranui continued to slurp noddles with her right hand.

Kagero, for her part, noticed the battle and decided that that was a great idea. The stealing noodles part, at least. As Mamiya cleared away her latest two bowls, her chopsticks darted into the bowl next to her and grabbed the whole mass before introducing it to her mouth, vacuuming it down before the hapless sailor could react.

So the pattern continued, both destroyers slurping noodles and either fending off attempts on their bowls or ruthlessly stealing from their neighbor. Finally, after what felt like way more than five minutes, the alarm signalling the end of the contest went off.

And from the bowls stacked in front of the contestants, it was clear who'd won.

"Yes!" Kagero cheered to the sound of polite clapping.

"Shiranui had fun," the other destroyer added.

 _"Good for you,"_ the other contestants growled.


	349. Rule 3178

**Rule 3178. To those involved in getting Zuikaku and Kaga together, please select a more discrete method to call a meeting next time.  
**  
In a dark room far from the sea, Akagi and Shokaku, President and Vice President of the ZuiKaga Association, glared down at their fellow members in uncharacteristic enmity. Yes, the ZuiKaga association. The shadow group that had subtly arranged for the two to get together.

Well. Subtle until today.

"Ladies," Akagi announced. "I am not amused."

Shokaku was more... operatic. "You stupid, fucking morons!" she barked. "What were you thinking!? We have a Facebook group for a fucking reason!"

"So reckless," Urakaze sighed, shaking her head.

Shame-faced, Kasumi, Kagero, Tone, and Arashi all wilted under the glares from their fellow association members. "We're sorry..." they chorused.

"Sorry isn't fucking good enough!" Shokaku practically snarled, looking about ten seconds away from strangling a bitch. "We're extraordinarily lucky that both Kaga and Zuikaku think we're a fan club that formed _after_ word of their relationship got out!"

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. As Akigumo stood up to answer it, Shokaku swung her arms in that direction, face practically screaming "See what I mean?!"

"Iku?! What are you doing here? And is that Fubuki behind you?!"

 _That_ got everyone's attention, as did one of the vents popping open, Kongo poking her head in.

"So, I was thinking, this association is a very good idea, but it needs a little more BURNING LOVE!" the battleship declared.

"I'm here to make sure this is all above the table," Fubuki answered. "Relatively speaking, of course."

"I'm just here for the surveillance footage of their sex life that I _know_ you guys have," Iku replied.

Groaning, Akagi let her head fall into her hands, mind wandering back to early that morning when this had all blown up.

~o~

 _It was a normal morning in the Yokosuka mess. Actual normal, not normal by shipgirl standards. Everyone had gotten their food without incident, and the room was filled with the sounds of conversation and the more fuel-hungry shipgirls eating._

 _"Hey, Kagero!"_

 _Even Tone shouting across the room for the kookiest of destroyers wasn't all that unusual. Did ruin the image of normal normalcy that had built up._

 _"What?" the destroyer called back._

 _"When's the next ZuiKaga Association meeting? I forgot when it was!"_

 _Just about everyone perked up at that. Ohh, juicy gossip! The remainder were a stunned and curious Zuikaku and Kaga, and the remaining members of the ZuiKaga Association, who all facepalmed or began to silently panic._

 _"It's at 7 tonight, usual time!"_

 _"Right, remind me where-!"_

 _"Tone, shut the fuck up!" Arashi suddenly bellowed, followed shortly by Kasumi shouting "Don't you fucking answer that, Kagero!"_

 _Things fell silent again, Arashi and Kasumi suddenly aware of the amount of attention they'd drawn to themselves. It was at this point that Kaga and Zuikaku rose, expressions stony and unreadable._

 _"No, please, tell us where this meeting is," Zuikaku said._

 _"So we can decide whether we need to shut it down or not," Kaga intoned._

~o~

Akagi was broken from her musings by a shout.

"Sister, as someone also in a romantic relationship, I can say that that advice is not only unhelpful, it is outright counterproductive," Kirishima growled.

"For the last time, Iku, we're not sharing that!" Hiryu snapped. "If we had it, which we don't!"

Sighing, Akagi eyed Fubuki, who was merely watching the proceedings with an amused smirk on her face. Well, that was good. The rest was about to be sorted.

"SHUT UUUUUUUUUUP!"

Silence fell, Kongo and Iku staring at Shokaku in shock. The white-haired carrier was wild-eyed, flushed with anger, and hunched over, making her look utterly deranged.

"Kongo. Iku. _Get. Out."  
_  
Sharing a look, the two scurried out - at which point Shokaku passed out.

"Ah, could somebody-" Akagi began, only for Arare to step up. "Right, never mind. Can we actually get to the subject of today's meeting?"

"Right, the date!" Soryu said, slapping her fist into her palm. "Right, ideas, guys! And remember, casual date, casual!"

With the mass of the association finally occupied on something productive, Akagi leaned back and finally relaxed.

"Meetings usually like this?"

Without opening her eyes, Akagi said, "Nah, we haven't had one this bad since Zuikaku's last launch day." She shivered. "So much _cheese..."_


	350. Rule 3179

**Rule 3179. We get that you girls are tired of excessive civilian oversight, but you can't storm Congress with your rigging on.  
**  
On this Thursday afternoon, the tourists flowing up and down the National Mall were treated to the sight of a large chunk of the US Navy's shipgirl combat strength marching down the grass, angry expressions on their faces. Bunker Hill. Franklin. Kentucky. Hawaii. Cruisers and destroyers and DEs and submarines. An awesome sight, and all heading towards Capitol Hill.

When the crowd - and in turn, the Twittersphere - figured out _that_ bit of information, interest immediately spiked. Congress, though recovered from the utter depths of unpopularity they had sunk to a few years prior, was still not particularly well-liked by the American public. The thought of the shipgirls taking them down a peg was of immense interest.

Soon enough, the shipgirls, followed by a trail of livestreaming tourists, entered the Capitol building, the guards unable to stand up to the authoritative and ice glares sent their way. And with that, everyone desperately switched to C-Span.

~o~

Inside the Capitol, Senator Wreck stretched her arms above her head as she walked through the outer halls of the building. The Senate was taking a recess in between proceedings, though from the sound of things the House was still in session. Wreck smirked. Sucks to be them.

She was just reaching the main foyer, and admiring the artwork - seriously, even after seeing it so many times it never got old - when the doors burst open.

"M-Miss Franklin, please-" she heard a guard stammer.

"But nothing!" Franklin snapped. "We're here, and we're going to make our voices heard!"

Well, now, wasn't that interesting. Clearly, the shipgirls had a bone to pick or three with her fellow Congressmen. Well, as one herself, best to put herself out there and see what they wanted. The rest of Congress was just so regretfully... _fragile.  
_  
[Oh? And what is it you want to share?] Wreck asked, stepping out into the foyer. It was immensely gratifying to see the entire fleet nervously step back. [Well, good news! I'm here, and I can address any concerns you might have.] She grinned, showing off her teeth. [Don't worry, I don't bite.]

Finally, Bunker Hill gulped, mustered up her courage, and stepped up. "We, ah, wanted to make it known that we believe that the, ah..." The carrier tugged at her collar, grimacing. "The _civilian oversight_ on the San Diego shipgirl fleet is... excessive."

Wreck raised an eyebrow. Well, that certainly wasn't a _Senate_ problem, if it was true; the Armed Forces Subcommittee on Personnel didn't have that under their jurisdiction, and if they didn't have it neither did any of the other Senate subcommittees. Well. She'd intended to put a _stop_ to this nonsense, but if it was a House committee causing this trouble...

[House Subcommittee, Oversight and Investigations for the Armed Forces?] she ventured, getting nods. [So, what did they do that was so terrible?]

Bunker Hill shuffled on her feet. "Uh, they were annoying?"

"Yeah, we've already got The List!" a cruiser in the back shouted. "Why do they need to be constantly lecturing at us to stay out of the news?"

[Maybe if you could stay _out_ of the news for ten minutes...] Wreck muttered under her breath. On second thought, if they didn't have anything actually serious to complain about, best to give them the boot and use this to extract concessions from the House. Holding up her hand, she waved it in a shooing motion. [Alright, if you don't have anything actually serious, run along and-]

"One of them tried to micromanage an operation!"

Destroyer Harding flinched under Wreck's gaze. [Is this true?] she growled.

"Y-Yeah!"

Snarling, Wreck spun on her heel and marched off into the Capitol. For a moment, the small fleet just milled about, and then Pasadena said, "Well, since Wreck seems to have things handled, shall we skedaddle before we get in even _more_ trouble?"

The resulting retreat was more like a stampede.

And while the tourists outside were disappointed that they hadn't really done anything, everyone watching C-Span was treated to the sight of Wreck bursting into the lower chamber and yelling _[LOWRY, YOU PROLAPSED RECTUM OF A MAN! JUST BECAUSE YOU WERE AN ENSIGN FOR TWO FUCKING MONTHS DOES NOT GIVE YOU_ PERMISSION _TO RUN NAVAL OPS!]  
_  
And even that bit, short as it was due to many other representatives grabbing Wreck before she could punch this Lowry in the face, was enough to go memetic within days.

But that's a story for another time.


	351. Rule 3183

**Rule 3183. To whomever left Colorado's, Arizona's, and New Mexico's container of Hatch Valley chilis open, and thus let them turn rotten while they were deployed, your punishment is going to fit the crime.**

Alarms rang through Bremerton, alerting the shipgirls within to an ongoing emergency.

"What's the panic?" Arizona asked as she entered the briefing room, the rest of the battle line already present.

"No idea," Colorado grumbled. "I didn't even get to put away my Hatch chilies away. Hopefully the threat of battleship retribution will keep people away."

Arizona's eyes narrowed. Hatch chilies were sacred, and to steal someone else's... "If it comes to that, I'll help."

"Me too!" New Mexico piped up. "Which sauce, by the way?"

"Ol' Gringo."

"Good choice."

"Alright, listen up, ladies!" Pennsylvania announced, killing all further conversation.

~o~

 _Two weeks later  
_  
It was a bedraggled, exhausted force that staggered back into Bremerton. Two weeks out at sea will do that to even a shipgirl. Most headed straight for the showers and then bed, or else were helped to the docks, but Colorado, joined by Arizona and New Mexico, was determined to check on her chilies.

"Maybe we should hold off for a day?" New Mexico suggested, one hand covering her eye as her vision swam. "Either way, it's not like waiting a day will change things."

"So tiiiiired..." Arizona groaned.

"No!" Colorado declared, slightly deliriously. "The sanctity... of the chilies... must be preserved!"

"Uh, you mean those chilies?"

The battleships stared at Rowan, then followed her pointing finger to a jar on the counter. An _open_ jar on the counter.

"No!" Colorado yelped, diving for the jar and instead hitting the counter about two feet to the right, knocking herself out. Curious, Arizona staggered up to the jar and gave it a sniff. Two seconds later, her body joined Colorado's on the floorboards.

"Lightweight..." New Mexico sighed, before turning to the destroyer. "Can you help me get those two to their rooms?"

"Sure, no problem.

~o~

"This is an outrage!" Colorado barked, pounding her fist on the table. "My chilies, rotted! Someone must have left them out the entire two weeks!"

"Y'know, rotten chilies are still semi-edible," New Mexico remarked. "I say the culprit be fed nothing but the chilies and water until there's none left."

Arizona opened her mouth-

"If you have the law, pound on the law. If you have the facts, pound on the facts. If you have neither, pound on the table." Leaning forward, Admiral Richardson pinned the battleships with a flinty stare. "Ladies. _Stop denting my goddamn table."  
_  
Colorado glanced down, and blushed at the dent that was, indeed, in Admiral Richardson's desk. She shuffled back, chuckling sheepishly.

"In any case," he said. "As this isn't something that really requires... well, any sort of justice to be handed down- GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"

The battleships scurried out as fast as their engines could take them. But where Colorado and New Mexico stopped after that, Arizona began marching away.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Colorado snapped.

"To talk to Vestal!" Arizona replied. "Whoever left those out, I'm betting she got burned on them!"

Blinking, Colorado and New Mexico turned to stare at each other.

"Why didn't we think of that?!"

~o~

Destroyer Mugford sat in her room, secure in the idea that no one was going to go after her about the chilies. It was an accident, anyway! Those chilies were way too hot! She'd been in no shape to put them away! But anyway, fourteen days of cowering in fear was enough.

A knock sounded out at her door.

Standing, the destroyer skipped up and swung it open. "Hi! What's..."

She trailed off, eyes widening as she beheld Colorado and New Mexico looming over her, reeking jar of chilies and bottle of water in hand, respectively. Behind them, Arizona poked her head around.

"Sorry about this, but... well... Hatch chilies. You know how it is."

Mugford, did not, in fact, "know how it is". Unfortunately, she had no opportunity to say this before the chilies were re-introduced to her mouth.


	352. Rule 3188

**Rule 3188: Yes there are several shipgirls who dress as maids for some reason, no they will not clean up after you slobs and you deserve what you get for telling/implying them to.**

As a force straddling two oceans, Force H was often home to outside forces, American, British, and French alike, passing through on the way to destinations in the Mediterranean. For the most part, they did not stay long enough to upset the close-knit relationship Force H had built up between each other, a relationship that managed a number of... quirks.

For example, Sheffield wearing a somewhat fetishistic maid outfit. All the time.

Of course, sooner or later one of the newcomers was going to stay long enough to _actually_ cause trouble. And by some cruel design of malicious gods, it was the Force de Raid, slumming in Gibraltar for a while after the Abyssals damaged part of the base at Dakar.

We turn our attention to Sheffield in the kitchen, stacking up freshly cleaned mixing bowls, a batch of cookies just finishing up in the oven.

"There we go!" she said. "Now, which book did I pick for today...?"

Walking out of the kitchen, she quickly found the book she was looking for, and a good thing, too, as the alarm for her cookies went off just after she found it. Picking up the pace, she slid into the kitchen-

And found the oven open and still running, the timer also still running, the cookies nowhere to be seen, and a fresh mess left on the counters: used wine corks and seals and corkscrews, cheese wrappers, cracker boxes and crumbs, several cutting boards smeared in _more_ cheese, the silverware drawer open and the contents strewn about.

Stunned, Sheffield heard the sound of laughter coming from a nearby lounge. Very _French_ laughter. Stomping her way over, she found Dunkerque and Strasbourg - of course - eating cheese and crackers and wine and _her cookies.  
_  
"Ahem," she coughed, getting no response. "Ahem!" No response again. "Oy!"

The two battlecruisers stopped, and glanced up at her, before adopting some of the most condescending expressions the cruiser had ever seen.

"Why are you bozzering us when you should be cleaning ze kitchen?" Dunkerque said.

Sheffield's eyebrow twitched. Especially when she saw the mess the two were making on the table.

"Ze hired help should be seen and not 'eard," Strasbourg added. "Anozzer problem wit ze British, zey do not train zeir 'ired 'elp properly."

"I just... cleaned up this mess," she breathed. "Could... Could you keep it clean? F-For _ten minutes?!"_

"Enough!"

Sheffield flinched back as Strasbourg suddenly loomed over her.

"You would do well to remember your place, _maid,"_ the battleship growled. "I will be 'aving _words_ with ze commander on base, and I will see you fired!"

"Easy, sister," Dunkerque cut in.

Sheffield didn't respond. She was too over come with blinding rage. At the same time, though, she wasn't one of the monsters, those anomalies that could take on ships way out of their weight class. So she kept the anger quiet, seething just below the surface, and bowed, before walking away.

Alright then. If they wanted her to be a maid, she'd be a maid. The most utterly incompetent - or passive-aggressive maid, depending on how you looked at it - maid in existence.

~o~

Renown gaped at Dunkerque and Strasbourg. Her brain had frozen, much like a gearbox without a clutch. Finally, it settled on a response.

"You _what?!"  
_  
The French shipgirls both blinked. "I don't see ze problem?"

"You don't see the- that wasn't a maid! We don't _have_ any maids on this base! That was Sheffield, one of our _cruisers!"  
_  
A look of horror passed over Strasbourg's face. "No maids at all?! Truly, zis ees most uncivilized country..."

With one last baleful look at the frogs, Renown let her head meet her desk.

"Get out," she mumbled acridly. "And don't come crying to me when Sheffield retaliates."

"Renown-!"

"Out!" Renown roared, her head shooting up and seeming swelling to impossible - and very angry - proportions. The French quickly scurried out and returned to their rooms.

What they found there was... annoying.

"Ze little rat rearranged all of our clothes!" Dunkerque snapped. "And where eez my underwear?!"

"You zink you have eet bad?" Strasbourg replied. "Everyzing's been moved six eenches from where eet should be! Including-"

After a second of no further elaboration, Dunkerque stood and walked over to her sister. "Sister, what are you-"

"Don't look!"

Too late. Dunkerque got a good look at Strasbourg's collection of toys, strewn about as they were on the floor.

And they weren't the innocent kind, before anyone asks.

Dunkerque averted her eyes. "Zo, we apologize?"

"Yes. Immediately."


	353. Rule 3191

**Rule 3191. No, the State Farm jingle does not work like it does on the commercial.  
**  
"Like a good neighbor~ State Farm is there~"

"Would you stop fucking singing that already!"

Chevalier, Taylor, and De Haven all sighed at the exchange, as it was the fourth time they'd heard it. Fucking Aaron Rodgers with his fucking sellout ways and fucking catchy jingle. Fuck the NFL. And fuck State Farm and their ear worm jingle.

But most of all, _fuck_ Cleveland for accidentally putting the idea in Strong's head that the jingle actually worked in real life.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop with the jingle," Strong grumbled. "Don't know why it's such a problem."

"Because you _keep doing it_ , and I'm pretty sure State Farm doesn't have access to teleportation machinery," Nicholas snapped. "Now shut up and keep an eye on the horizon."

Sighing, Strong went back to work, and the destroyer squadron continued to steam along.

"Bandits at four o'clock!"

"AA formation, everyone!" Nicholas barked, though she was gratified to see that her sisters were already forming up. From the radar plot, they were facing about twenty planes, a mix of fighters and dive bombers. A good combination, but not enough, not with their AA.

5" guns barked, proximity-fused shells forcing the formation apart. The attack, when it came, was piecemeal, and the planes were easy prey for their autocannon.

Then, suddenly, heavy shells landed just short of their formation.

"The fuck?!" Taylor yelped. "Where did- a flight deck cruiser?!"

Nicholas trained her eyes on the distant enemy. Sure enough, there was an entirely new Abyssal type, sporting a flight deck over one arm and twin turrets on the other. The turrets flashed, and she immediately changed course, the shells landing harmlessly behind her.

"De Haven, radio San Diego, tell them we're engaging a new Abyssal type!" Nicholas barked. "Once you're done, provide covering fire with Chevalier! Strong, Taylor, and I will make a torpedo run!"

"Like a good neighbor~ State Farm is there~!"

Nicholas whirled around to berate Strong for singing _that damn jingle_ again.

"KYAAAAAA!"

But a scream of... embarrassment? Caught her attention first. She spun around again, just in time for a towel-clad Randolph to punch the Abyssal in the face. Repeatedly.

"Oh, yeah, she had that sponsorship..."

For about fifteen second, the destroyers awkwardly watched, shifting on their feet. And then...

"So, should we..."

"De Haven, finish that message," Nicholas replied. "The rest of you... I don't suppose you have anything that might fit her?"

Shakes all around.

"Damn. Didn't think so."


	354. Rule 3196

**Rule 3196. Cruisers, be you heavy or light, the corpsmen really wished that you had notified them ahead of time that you've been volunteering to be the "training equipment" for the football, football, and football teams for the upcoming inter-service games.  
**  
SS Knute Rockney looked over the men the Navy had lent her for this purpose, and nodded. Not bad. She could work with this. Especially once she began weeding them out.

"Alright!" she barked. "As I'm sure you all know, the Army and Air Force have challenged us to a three-team football tournament! You are the dross I will be molding into a functional football team, and since I have a month, I'm going to have to be brutal! You will get hurt! You will feel like you're going to die! Many of you will drop out! And the remainder will be the best damn football team I can put together, good enough to _demolish_ whatever scrubs the Chair Force and the nancy-boy feetsmen throw at us! Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am!" the sailors all barked.

"Excellent!" Reaching up, Rockney snapped her fingers, and twenty-two shipgirls streamed out onto the field. "For the most part, you'll be working with these gals. Get to know them well."

To the relief of the sailors, Samuel B. Roberts, sporting a wide receiver number, had her little whale plushy. To their near-panic, among the shipgirls was Iowa, wearing a D-line jersey, who gave them all an eager grin and then drew her finger across her throat.

Together, all the sailors gulped and began mentally preparing their wills. Was this worth it, just to beat the Air Force and Army at football?

After a moment's thought, they all concluded that the answer was yes. Very yes.

~o~

"We've got another one!"

"What's the injury?"

"Broken collarbone!"

The gathered Navy corpsmen all groaned, one of them marking a tally on a nearby whiteboard. This injury was simply the latest in a series of broken collarbones, torn ACL and Achilles tendons, concussions, and cracked ribs. And they were getting quite sick of it.

As some of his fellows set to patching up the sailor wheeled in - who seemed surprisingly chipper about the whole thing - one of the corpsmen stormed out, intent on giving the shipgirls a piece of his mind. He quickly reached the practice field. He quickly spotted Knute Rockney by her whistle and much yelling, and he quickly marched up to her.

"Plant your foot, Jenkins!" she shouted to a sailor pushing against California. "Push it!" The cargo ship seemed to notice the corpsman, and she blew her whistle. "Alright, take five and get some water, everyone. Seems the docs want a word with me."

"Yes, we do," the corpsman growled. "What the hell kind of training from hell are you running here?!"

"Heh, you think this is bad, stay away from the game," Rockne chuckled. "It's gonna get bloody."

"That's... but..." the corpsman spluttered. "You could've at least told us ahead of time!"

Somehow, that actually prompted Rockne to _think._ "Huh. Yeah, that would've been a good idea."

"GRAAAAAH!" the corpsman howled. "I am not okay with this!"

~o~

"I'm okay with this," said corpsman said a couple weeks later as the Navy football team ran roughshod over the Army team.


	355. Rule 3197

**Rule 3197. No longer allowed to invade or subvert micronations. Micronational projects with an explicit artistic or educational nature may be permitted after proper approval, with supervision.**

In the North Sea, just distant of the UK's territorial waters, there stood an old anti-aircraft platform leftover from WWII. Long abandoned, it had been held first by pirate radio broadcasters, then a man named Roy Bates, who declared it a sovereign nation. Nobody really took this seriously, and nobody actually lived there. Certainly not since the Abyssals showed up.

Honestly, it's amazing that it took this long for the war's shenanigans to find it.

The waves lapping against one of the concrete pillars that supported the platform were suddenly broken by a wetsuit-clad hand. Finger sunk into the concrete, and HMS Vandal yanked herself out of the water entirely.

"Yessssss... finally!" she crowed. "Today, Sealand... tomorrow, Sealand! Remember, don't get greedy. Save the world for year ten."

Ego successfully checked, Vandal jammed her feet into the concrete and began climbing, inch by inch, up the pillar. Even with shipgirl stamina it was rather rough going, but eventually, she hauled herself onto the flat top of the platform.

"Whew! Alright, let's get a look at my new base."

Honestly, it wasn't all that much to look at. Decades of sea and wind had worn down the metal and concrete construction, and it hadn't been much to look at to begin with. Still, it was a base, out of the direct jurisdiction of the British military, and she'd swiped some devices from Vanguard that would help her get set up.

Hopefully.

In any case, she was about half done with her surface inspection when she rounded a corner right into the face of the fucking _Channel Princess._ Honestly, it was a tossup who was more surprised, but it was Vandal who recovered first by punching the Abyssal square in the face and running away.

"Nope! Nope! Nope!" the submarine shouted as she sprinted for the edge. "Abort! Abort! Abor-!"

Something grabbed her ankle and yanked it out from under her, sending Vandal sprawling painfully into the concrete. A strong grip flipped her over, and the last thing she saw was the Channel Princess' mad grin and reared-back fist.

And then it hit.

~o~

Channel Princess peered over the edge of the hole she'd created, watching that odd shipgirl crash into the water. She grinned. Oh, that had to hurt. Ah well. That's what she got for trespassing on _her_ new fortress. Really, maybe humans weren't all bad if they could build villain lairs like this.

Turning away, she was about to make her way to the interior of the platform when she heard a low whine, almost like a small jet engine. But that was impossible.

Or not. Turning around revealed the shipgirl from before, but now clad in a suit of high-tech armor. That could fly.

"Round two, bitch," Vandal announced, her voice electronically distorted.

[Yeah, right,] Channel Princess scoffed. [Like you have weapons that can-]

CHOW!

Blinking, Channel Princess found herself embedded in the central platform, rubble coating her torso.

[Huh...] she muttered as Vandal jetted towards her. [Alright then. If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get!]

Standing up and shaking off the rubble, Channel Princess met Vandal's charge with a headlong punch straight to the faceplate that left the shipgirl staggering back, her whole suit rung like a gong. Sensing an opportunity, the Abyssal darted forward, firing her lighter guns. Vandal flew up and away, the rounds from the light guns pinging off the armor, and responded with another blast from those energy blasters. This time, being ready, Channel Princess caught the blast on her arms, noting the burns it left behind and the skid marks in the concrete she produced.

[Ha! You'll have to do better than-!]

That was when Vandal's boot crashed into her face with surprising force.

Growling, and done playing around, Channel Princess swung and missed but forced Vandal up again, at which point the Abyssal popped out her missile launchers and launched an eight-missile salvo. Vandal banked, slots in the armor popping out and throwing back micro-missiles that shredded the pursuers. Another retaliatory energy blast was dodged, this time.

That was the pattern for the next few minutes: Vandal zipping around, taking potshots and dodging missiles, and Channel Princess skidding around filling the sky with tracers and missiles. Something had to give.

As it turned out, the AA platform they were fighting on was what gave. A massive crack in the concrete announced itself by splitting right under Channel Princess' legs with a sound like a gunshot. The fight paused, and then ended as the platform collapsed entirely, sending the Channel Princess screaming down into the waves.

"Ha!" Vandal crowed. Her good mood last all of three seconds before her armor went dark. "Uh-oh. Waaaaagh!"

And down she went into the drink.

~o~

"So, let me get this straight," Admiral Collingwood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You destroyed Sealand and an experimental armor suit of Vanguard's, and you didn't even have the decency to bag that Abyssal?"

"Well, when you put it like that..." Vandal hedged.

Collingwood sighed again. "This had to happen simultaneously with the Molossia thing..."

"What Molossia thing?"

"Just Google it."


	356. Rule 3201

**Rule 3201. We appreciate the efforts you've undertaken to remain hidden Ms. Ulithi, but can you at least send the respective commands a message of some sort when you've taken a shipgirl in for rest and recovery?  
**  
Hornet bit back a curse as the last few shootdowns of the Abyssal aerial attack splashed into the water. She'd weathered that last strike no problem, but none of the other carriers in her task group had, and everyone was running low on AA ammunition. And now, a heavy surface force was cresting the horizon, something said screen wasn't stopping unless they went full Taffy. And that was never something to count on.

Sighing, Hornet slowed down a bit, which caught the attention of a limping Intrepid.

"Hornet, what are you doing?"

"Buying you guys some time," she said, raising her launching rifle, Avengers already loaded. "Don't worry, I don't plan for them to get close. Launch, retreat, rinse and repeat."

"That's-" Actually a not half bad plan, now that Intrepid thought about it. Even a Ta had trouble catching a fleet carrier, especially when under aerial attack. And besides, this was _Hornet_. She had one of the deepest bags of tricks in the fleet. "If you die, I'll kill you."

"Duly noted," Hornet chuckled as she launched her first aircraft. "Now go!"

With one last nod, Intrepid steamed off, and Hornet turned a bloodthirsty grin on the oncoming Abyssals.

"C'mon, you pansies! Come on, come charging, take your chance to defeat a _legend!_ Who's gonna be the lucky winner?!"

~o~

Hours later, Intrepid, now patched up but still in need of dock time, stared out at the horizon, almost willing her sister to come back. And as the sun slipped beneath the waves, all the emotion she'd kept bottled up threatened to burst out of her. A firm hand alighted onto her shoulder, and she turned around to see Admiral Holloway giving her a grim but sympathetic expression.

And the dam broke. Intrepid slumped to her knees, wailing in grief, tears streaming from her eyes. And Admiral Holloway kneeled down next to her and slung an arm over her shoulder.

~o~

Hornet's eyes blinked open, taking in white sands, a thin covering of greenery, and brilliantly blue water. Then the dull, throbbing pain made itself known, which was curious in itself. Last she'd been awake the pain had been much more severe. Like, fist-sized-holes severe.

Grunting, she pulled up into a sitting position, and looked herself over. Most of her wounds were patched up, and those that weren't were thoroughly bandaged. On the other hand, she wouldn't be fighting anytime soon; her rigging had been thoroughly trashed.

"I didn't plan for there to be an _actual_ lucky winner, dammit," she sighed.

Yes, her little stand had gone badly. The Abyssals had gotten the bright idea of a sneaking in a submarine close, one of the ones with the big 12" gun. And that submarine had played it smart by going torpedoes and _then_ gun, which accounted for her injuries.

But hey, she was alive. Now, to find her savior to thank whoever it was and find out where she was.

Standing, despite her protesting muscles and pulled injuries, she took off the tattered remains of her shirt - her skirt was still in decent condition, thank God - and fashioned the shredded cloth into a halfway decent breastband. Modesty restored, she wobbled down to the water and took in the island. Her jaw dropped open.

"Wait, this Eniwetok!"

"Yes, it is."

Hornet tore her eyes away from the familiar lagoon in front of her to the woman behind her. Ash-blonde hair cascaded down onto a Seabee khaki uniform - though it couldn't quite hid her mini-rigging and the Quonset huts set on top.

"It's good to see that you're up and about, Hornet," the woman said kindly. "It was touch and go for a while."

"You're Eniwetok," Hornet stated. "Or rather, an Installation of the atoll."

"I am," she nodded. "I have been trying to keep out of this war. Installation or no Installation, the Abyssals could easily kill me if they wanted to. Regardless, you're free to stay here until you're ready to leave."

"And that would be now," Hornet declared, stepping out onto the water. "I need to get back to- WARGH!"

The exclamation was due to the sand under her foot collapsing and pitching her into the water. Eniwetok giggled as Hornet pushed herself up.

"Alright, maybe I _should_ wait here a bit..."

~o~

"So. Hornet's alive?" Essex remarked, as if talking about the weather.

Admiral Holloway wasn't fooled. There were always little physical tells. That slight tensing of her jaw, as I felt bracing.

"Yes. Eldridge was insistent on that, and more importantly, when we tried to re-summon her, it failed."

A hitch in the carrier's shoulders. "But what if-"

"The experts and the experiments have been insistent on this point," Holloway interrupted. "If we can't summon her, it's because she's alive. Somewhere."

And with that, Essex's composure broke entirely.

"Oh thank God..."

~o~

Time passed on the atoll. Hornet sat in the sun and shade, splashed in the water, and subsisted on fish and coconuts. It was peaceful, soothing, and a little unnerving. At some point, Hornet woke up realizing that she had no idea how long she'd been on the atoll.

Her only real hint to the passage of time was her slow, steady recovery. Very slow. But eventually, she stepped onto the water of the inner lagoon, and she knew it was time to leave.

"You're certain you can't stay?"

Oh, yeah, that was the last aspect of being on this island: Eniwetok constantly trying to convince her to stay and ride out the war.

"We've been over this," Hornet sighed. "I can't stay, and I don't _want_ to stay. Not with friends and family out there and not here."

"I see..." Eniwetok sighed. Her head lifted up, and Hornet took a step back at the venomous expression on her face. "I'm sorry about this, but it's for your own good."

The Installation charged forward, clearly intent on pinning Hornet to the sand - and then Hornet simply went intangible and shot right through her.

"Sorry, Eni!" the carrier called back. "I'll be sure to visit!"

The Installation could only stare as Hornet disappeared over the horizon. Growling, she lashed out with a foot, splitting one of the palm trees in half.

"Fuck!"

~o~

Out on the sea, Hornet sighed and looked away. That had been... surprisingly painful. Eniwetok's loneliness, and the sheer joy she'd felt at having someone to talk to, had been plain the whole stay. Painfully plain. Regardless, she had a straight shot back to civilization. In this case, the Marquesas.

After all, she needed a bodyguard for when she got back.

It took several days' more travel, but soon enough Hornet, after radioing in her survival, arrived back in San Diego. With her sisters thronging at the shore, she climbed up onto the pier - and immediately went intangible as the thriving torrent of humanity surged forward, screaming and squealing and crying in joy and relief, surged forward and then carried themselves and Re-chan off the pier.

[Traitor!] the Allied Abyssal howled as she hit the water.

"Better you than me!" Hornet called back.


	357. Rule 3207

**Rule 3207. Brooklyn is to stop spying on Honolulu when she's out on a date with Jintsuu.  
**  
It was a peaceful day in Norfolk.

*BAM!*

"SAVANNAH! PHILADELPHIA! DID YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT OUR SISTER IS DATING A _JAP?!"  
_  
And then Brooklyn decided to join the party.

Sighing, the other two Atlantic Fleet Brooklyns closed their devices and gave their eldest sister a flat look.

"I see you figured out Facebook," Savannah snarked.

"Oh, and by the way, 'Jap' is an ethnic slur these days, so please don't use it," Philadelphia added.

Visibly torn between indignation and embarrassment, Brooklyn flushed and coughed into her fist. "Yes, I have just figured out Facebook, and I'll try to not use- I KNEW IT, YOU ALREADY KNEW!" she suddenly roared. "HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?!"

"I think they have their one-year anniversary coming up soon," Philadelphia noted. "And it wasn't exactly a secret when it started."

"Look," Savannah cut in to forestall another outburst from Brooklyn. "I don't know why you're getting your panties in a twist. Not only is Jintsuu, like, the sweetest thing ever, Nashville keeps an eye on their dates. Quietly, of course. And while there have been problems, they've been of the 'insane island princes' variety, not anything Jintsuu did."

"I have seen the hentais," Brooklyn hissed in reply. "And I will not let one of my sisters have that inflicted on her! Especially since the quiet ones are always the most deviant!" And before Savannah and Philadelphia could stop her, Brooklyn stormed out in a huff.

Sighing, Savannah said, "I'll call Nashville."

~o~

Sendai looked up at the restaurant sign, and groaned. Of all the places Jintsuu and Honolulu had to go for their anniversary dinner, it just _had_ to be Ninja Sushi. It wasn't even that fancy!

See, Ninja Sushi's gimmick, besides its extensive sushi cake dessert menu, was actual trained ninjas delivering your food. Rumor had it that none of the ninja waiters had ever been seen by a customer. Sendai was skeptical, especially with the kkind of Mcninjas she usually encountered in this country, but for the untrained eye it probably worked most of the time. Still. It was a bit of an insult to her chosen second profession.

Regardless, she needed to keep an eye on things, so she went in to get a table. For this mission, she was dressed up as a businesswoman with long black hair, her outfit carefully chosen to be professional but just the slightest bit cheap. Once seated, the plan was to sit, wait, periodically check her watch, and grow visibly frustrated as things went on, in that way of someone attending a meeting with someone running dreadfully late.

Taking a seat at her assigned table, Sendai glanced at the picture hanging on the wall. Obviously, it was meant to swing open from a hidden panel. She glanced up. The ceiling _looked_ solid, but she'd bet her torpedo complement that it was actually made of horizontal beams.

"Not bad," she muttered, before ordering some tea off the order tablet built into the table.

For the next half hour, she waited and watched. Nothing happened, besides Jintsuu and Honolulu having a good time, and though she wanted to feel relieved, the lack of activity was actually making a pit in her stomach, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So when Sendai's phone rang, she didn't need to fake the relieved eagerness with which she retrieved it. "Hello?"

 _"Sendai, we've got a problem."  
_  
And there was the other shoe. "What kind of problem?"

 _"Brooklyn's gotten it into her head that Jintsuu is trying to seduce Honolulu into some sort of hentai plot."  
_  
Sendai blinked. Okay then...

"I'd think it would be the other way around," she remarked.

 _"Try telling Brooklyn that. When she gets an idea in her head, she's like a pit bull with a fresh bone."  
_  
"Great..." Sendai sighed. "So, what's she planning to do?"

 _"Well, I don't know."  
_  
Sighing again, Sendai ran her fingers through her hair. "So you're telling me we're flying blind."

 _"I'll try to find her, but until then, 'fraid so."  
_  
"Great."

And then suddenly, ninjas. And not the waiter ninjas, either.

~o~

Outside the restaurant, on another rooftop well away from Nashville but also with a good vantage point of the happy couple, Brooklyn lay flat on her stomach with a pair binoculars. But she spent most of her time reading a book; after all, she only needed to know when they left, because unless this Jintsuu was even more depraved than she thought, she wasn't likely to try something in the restaurant.

So it was only by great luck that she caught the restaurant exploding right as it happened. Well. The _restaurant_ didn't explode. But there was a loud bang and suddenly smoke was flowing out of the shattered windows.

Biting back a curse, Brooklyn hopped off the roof, shattering the pavement below on landing. Despite the sudden jelly feeling in her legs, she sprinted into the restaurant by way of one of the windows. Knocking over a hapless businesswoman in her haste to get to Honolulu's table, she arrived just in time to see a bunch of ninjas carry off Jintsuu, and Honolulu standing shellshocked in the wreckage of her table, covered in soot.

"Honolulu, are you alright?" Brooklyn barked - not screamed, barked.

Her sister flinched, and turned around, eyes widening in surprise. "Brook, what are you- No, not important, we'll yell about that later." Reaching down, Honolulu tore the hem of her dress. "My girlfriend just got kidnapped by ninjas, and we're going to get her back."

Brooklyn opened her mouth to say 'What's this 'we' shit, Kemosabe', or to try and stop Honolulu outright, but the words died in her throat when it occurred to her that this could be used as leverage to prevent Jintsuu from doing deviant things to her sister.

"Lead the way," she said.

The two burst out of the restaurant - and found themselves confronted with the fact that the ninjas had vanished to who-knows-where.

"Shit. D'you know where they went?" Brooklyn said.

"I- I don't-"

That was as far as Honolulu got before a ninja, dressed in the waiter's uniform, melted out of the shadows. "I can show you," she said. "They are honorless dogs who have destroyed my workplace. Even for a ninja, it is difficult to find a job in this economy."

"Right..." Honolulu drew out. "Not gonna question it. Lead the way, whoever you are."

The ninja nodded, and then set out on a wandering path that took them into a less respectable part of town, heavy on car repair shops. One of said shops was boarded up and clearly abandoned, and the ninja stopped outside the chain link fence that encircled it.

"They are here," she said. "Now, if we could form a plan of attack-"

"Yeah, I have a plan," Honolulu growled, cracking her knuckles. _"Attack."  
_  
"I agree," said Brooklyn.

Neither cruiser even bothered to tear down the fence; they just hurled themselves at the metal, and then at the walls, busting right through. Left behind, Sendai sighed and then walked up to the building to see how they were doing. The answer was very well. The ninjas were, to a man, not strong enough to even scratch the paint of the two cruisers, lacked any weapons that could do so, and as such were simply taken down in droves. But that was an expected outcome. What was _un_ expected was what looked like another island prince quivering in the back of the building, Jintsuu unconscious at his feet.

Anger surged up, but she shoved it down, and crept into the shadows, circling around behind him. Then, a knife to the throat.

"You're here for Jintsuu," she stated, feeling the prince's sweat drip onto her knife. "Why?"

Shaking, the prince replied, "G-Goddess... W-We wanted to bring her back to our island, tie her to us-"

A little pressure to the windpipe shut him up, and Sendai glanced down at her sister. Unconscious, but nothing more, and she looked peaceful.

"Heh. Well, that's a little more respectable than the last island prince to show up," she chuckled. "Now. Those two will be done soon. I suggest you surrender immediately and do whatever they say."

The prince shifted his gaze back to the ongoing fi- _slaughter,_ and gulped audibly. It took all he had not to faint when the two turned to him.

And on that day, the island of Gooma-Gooma gained three new goddesses for their pantheon, their patron deity gaining a goddess of shadows as a sister, a war goddess as a consort, and a complete battleax of a sister-in-law.

It is perhaps a good thing that Gooma-Gooma could not be found on any maps, else Brooklyn probably would have left them with a dire shortage of priests.


	358. Rule 3210

**Rule 3210: Stop bugging Yamato and Enterprise about high quality food supplements. Yes the name of the company is Yamato Enterprises Inc. no they do not own it so don't ask.  
**  
Afternoon in the Yamaprise household was marked, generally, by much snacks and Enterprise and Yoshino trying to wear each other out while Yamato was out on sortie. Yoshino usually won, and being two, was not a particularly graceful winner.

So, when the doorbell rang, Enterprise was just a _tad_ eager to go and answer it.

"Yes?" she said to- Lieutenant Kamata?

Honestly, the poor sailor had clearly seen better days. Bags hung under her eyes, her hair resembled a rat's nest, and she clearly hadn't showered in a while.

"Iku working you hard?" Enterprise ventured.

"You have no idea," Kamata groaned. "She's in one of those _moods._ Anyway, I'm here for some of those nutritional supplements you have. Otherwise, I might actually die before the shipment gets through."

What? "What supplements?"

"Y'know, the supplements you guys make," Kamata answered.

"We don't _make_ supplements."

"Yes, you do! Your name's in the company!"

Her patience wearing thin, Enterprise snapped, "Does this look like a supplement-making factory?!" This was accompanied by her waving her hand at the house.

"The name is Yamato Enterprises! You have to know _something!"_ Kamata practically screamed back.

Enterprise promptly smacked Kamata upside the head.

Chuckling sheepishly, the sailor replied, "In my defense, I've been up for three days..."

"Just go..." Enterprise sighed.

~o~

Two days later, Enterprise heard another knock at her door without the rumble of the delivery truck.

"This better not be about the nutritional supplements," she grumbled, padding over to the door.

Opening the door revealed a nervous-looking Isuzu. Oh, good, at least it was one of the sane ones.

"How can I help you?" Enterprise asked.

"W-Well, uh... you guys sell those supplements, right?" she said, shuffling back and forth. "I... kinda need them for one of my destroyers."

Never mind. But curiosity won over annoyance. "Why? I thought the Duckies were eating right now."

"Yeah, but one of them has taken it too far."

~o~

 _"Hey, does anyone know where Wakatsuki is?" Isuzu asked, her all-Akizuki destroyer squadron shaking their heads. "She better not be late, I-"_

 _"Hey! Sorry I'm late! I forgot how far the rendezvous is from the pier."_

 _Isuzu turned her eyes to Wakatsuki, eyeing the rolls of fat that hadn't been there a week ago on her face and belly. "So, you've... filled out," she remarked._

 _A grin spread over the destroyer's face. "Oh, man, did you know about Doritos?" she gushed. "Like, holy shit! And cheesecake. And_ donuts." _Suddenly, her expression turned a bit angry. "Oh, yeah, buffalo wings! Why didn't the Americans tell us about buffalo wings? Those things are awesome!"_

 _"Right..." Isuzu muttered. "Well, we need to sortie, so-"_

 _"Right, professionalism!"_

~o~

"I hate to break it to you, but a. we don't actually run a supplements business, and b. that seems like something for a dietician," Enterprise replied. "Or a trip to Akashi. Either works."

"Darn," Isuzu grumbled. "Alright, I'll look into it."

~o~

Three days after _that,_ Yamato was back home when another knock sounded out. And this time, Enterprise didn't get a chance to stand and answer, as Yamato beat her to the punch. Listening with half an ear, Enterprise focused her attention back on Yoshino, and so almost missed Yamato's shout.

She did _not_ miss Kagero's scream dopplering away.

"Supplements?" she asked once Yamato stomped back into the room.

"Supplements!" Yamato snapped, throwing up her ahnds.


	359. Rule 3221

**Rule 3221. Not allowed to attempt to sink the USS Texas before she's in dry moorings in order to summon her. Let her serve as a museum and the honorary Texas flagship in peace.  
**  
Fire... noise... water, rushing in-!

Texas shot up, throwing her covers off, breath coming in ragged gasps. It took a moment for her heart to calm down, and when she did she ran a hand through her hair.

 _'What the hell was that?'  
_  
The dream had been... decidedly non-specific, but she'd felt like she was sinking. Which made no sense, since she was on solid ground a good two hundred miles from the sea, and had been all night. Ah well. The subconscious was a weird, wonderful, irrational thing. Maybe it was telling her not to un-retire.

"I don't even want to do that, stupid subconscious," Texas muttered.

Regardless, she shoved the thought aside and went into her morning routine, which did wonders to help banish the dream. Especially went it went according to normal. Some mornings things went as routine, and some mornings you had to help your Marine vet neighbor fend off a bunch of gun-toting drug dealers pissed off at the whole neighborhood watch thing. The first was infinitely preferable.

Only when she reached the final step - sitting down to breakfast with the newspaper - did something go awry.

"PFFFT!"

With her newspaper now soaked with coffee, Texas pulled out her phone to double-check. Yup. _Someone_ had sunk her old steel hull.

Now, it should be noted that while Texas was quick to biting annoyance, actual, honest-to-God anger came a lot harder. So when that anger welled up in her...

 _'Oh. I'm angry. That's a new one, what should I do?'  
_  
First, the battleship dialed a number. "Hello, Manuel? Think you can hold down the fort for a few days? ... Nah, nothing serious. I just need to go yell at- Ah. Saw that, didn't you. ... Yes, I'm rather... upset. ... No promises."

Second, she grabbed her computer to buy a plane ticket.

And then she packed for a few days.

~o~

Tuscaloosa carefully eyed New York. When she'd been told, she hadn't believed it, but yes, there was the battleship, curled up in a corner, hyperventilating into a paper bag.

"Okay, calm down," she said. "You didn't actually sink her old hull, so I doubt she's going to do anything bad to you."

To her surprise, the cruiser saw Detroit, who'd alerted her to this, shake her head. At least New York paused in her hyperventilating long enough to actually talk.

Though in all honesty, that wasn't much of an improvement.

"You don't understand!" she wailed. "You don't know the depths I went to to get her to unretire! She'll never believe it wasn't me!" And then, the bag was back up.

"Well, great..." Tuscaloosa groaned. "Now what?"

Detroit just shrugged. And their phones pinging distracted them from further thought on the subject.

"Woman shouts at Texas Independence Par-" Tuscaloosa read, her eyes suddenly widening. "Hey, wait, that's Texas in the thumbnail!"

"Watching!"

Fifteen minutes later, the two cruisers closed the video windows, feeling slightly stunned. "Wow..." Tuscaloosa breathed.

"I know right?" Detroit replied.

"I gotta remember to memorize some of those curse words."

"They're Spanish curse words, I'm pretty sure."

"And then those government guys came!"

"Yeah, it was pretty funny, seeing them try to- Wait! What about New York?"

The two cruisers turned to the battleship to find her unconscious with a deliriously happy smile on her face.

"Well, I guess that problem's solved," Tuscaloosa shrugged.


	360. Rule 3224

**Rule 3224. Never attempt to use a hurricane to imitate Superman.  
**  
Aside from the very first year of the war, hurricanes hadn't much disrupted combat operations between shipgirls and Abyssals. In large part, this was because the war situation kept the battles out of the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico, but the lack of hurricanes strong enough to sweep up the East Coast was a major factor, too. Again, aside from the first year, and that affected the Abyssals more than humanity. Poor monsters had no idea how to handle them.

~flashback~

Hurricane Betty had come and gone, leaving behind billions in property damage from Miami to Baltimore. An Abyssal attack in Miami was just salt in the wound. But when the response force had arrived to defeat it, they had found a single Abyssal washed up in a downtown street strongly resembling a drowned rat. So, confused, they'd captured it, at which point intel had gotten all enthusiastic about trying their new anti-Abyssal restraints.

Privately, Texas didn't think they'd stand up to a Re-class, but that was why she was sitting just outside the interrogation room.

Inside, she could see the interrogator become increasingly frustrated. He hid it very well, but it was becoming more and more plain. Finally, he slammed his palms on the table and, with one last comment from the Abyssal, stormed out.

Something on her face must have betrayed her amusement, because as the spook swept past Texas he threw her a glare and pointed to the interrogation room. "Then you do it!" he snapped.

Shrugging, Texas nodded to the entirely superfluous guards and walked in, sitting down in front of the Abyssal.

To her surprise, the Abyssal spoke first. [Hey, d'you know when that guy's gonna be back with food? I'm hungry, and I've heard really good things about human food.]

Mentally, Texas shifted her expectations from "enemy combatant" to "daft destroyer". No wonder that spook had given up in disgust, he obviously wasn't asking the right questions. Probably shit about enemy plans and all that.

Instead, she said, "Might be a while. That's a lot of food to cook."

The pouting face the Re-class adopted should have been impossible.

"A-Anyway," Texas stammered. "Why don't you tell me what you thought of Miami?"

The Abyssal un-pouted and blinked in confusion. [Miami?]

"You know, the city we found you in."

[Oh, is that where I ended up?] the Abyssal replied, eyes wide. [Damn, I'm way off the beaten path. Ugh, Submarine Princess is going to _kill_ me.]

"I see..." Texas remarked, mentally grinning at the information she was getting. "And how did you end up off the beaten path?"

[Well, see, I was supposed to scout out the Caribbean, but there was this hurricane, so I wanted to try doing the Superman thing! But the wind didn't pick me up and then I got hit by lightning and-]

"I see," Texas hastily cut in. "That's... definitely an interesting story." Making a show of checking her watch, she followed that with "Let me go see how your food's going."

[Make sure they get the fried lard right!]

Texas beat a hasty, if circumspect, retreat after that, finding the spook waiting for her.

"Good," he nodded. "Now-"

 _"You_ are going to go tell the kitchen what that Abyssal requested for food," Texas cut in. "While I start writing up your report for you."

~flashback~

And now, a Category Four was sweeping up the East Coast, which meant New York had to make a few preparations. Her first stop was at the room of a very special destroyer. Reaching up, she knocked on Walker's door.

"Yeah?" the destroyer said when she opened her door.

"We've got a hurricane set to sweep up the coast," New York said. "We need you to make sure none of your sisters try to go Superman flying out there."

Walker snorted derisively at that. Then, when New York's expression didn't change, she blinked in astonishment. "Wait. You're serious?"

The battleship nodded.

"Jesus." Slamming a fist into a palm, Walker gritted her teeth. "Right. Time for those idiots to get a good smacking!"


	361. Rule 3228

**Rule 3228. Would the Royal Navy like to send someone to retrieve HMS. Resolute(1850) out of the Oval Office? The president would very much like his office back.  
**  
"The President will see you now, Senator."

Nodding, Wreck stood and nervously adjusted her tie. Her! Nervous! It was just the fucking President, for crying out loud! She'd taken on entire fleets and not gotten nervous!

 _[Damn my US Navy genetics!]_ Wreck mentally grumbled.

To her surprise, though, the secretary leading her did not head for the Oval Office. Instead, she opened the door to one of the many other rooms in the White House, the President sitting behind a nondescript desk.

"Hello, Senator," he said, rising to shake Wreck's hand. "It's good to finally meet you in person."

[Er, likewise,] Wreck said, glancing around. [If I could ask, why aren't-]

"I in the Oval Office?" the President said, smiling ruefully. "Unfortunately, my desk seems to have come to life and doesn't want to leave."

Wreck was a veteran Abyssal, and then had come into close contact with shipgirl shenanigans, both during the ceasefire period and as a senator. So it said something that all she could muster up to that declaration was a strangled "What."

"She calls herself HMS Resolute, and I believe her timbers were used in the construction of the desk," the President explained.

Well, that made more sense, though how she'd spontaneously summoned herself was an open question. And why she didn't want to leave.

[So why me if she's not leaving?] Wreck asked. [Why not one of the Atlantic Fleet who can be here in a few hours?]

"She's saying that only Royal Navy orders will get her out of there," the President sighed, and it struck Wreck just how _tired_ the man looked. "In the interest of not forcing the Royal Navy to send a shipgirl over the Atlantic, I was hoping your, ah, 'charms' would be able to dislodge her."

Wreck grinned. It was not a happy grin. [Leave it to me, Mr. President.]

~o~

As she stepped out of the Oval Office, Wreck wiped a slop of canned beef off her forehead. [Well, that didn't work,] she said calmly. [Stubborn little fucker, reminds me of some of our destroyers.]

The President sighed. "I'll call the Admiralty."

[Nah, hold off on that for a bit,] Wreck replied. [I want to try Plan 2 first.]

The President gave her an odd look. "Don't you mean Plan B?"

[That would imply I've only got twenty-six plans, Mr. President.]

~o~

Resolute lounged on the smashed desk that had summoned her here. It had been a while since anyone had poked their head in; either they'd given up, or they were trying to starve her out. She snorted. The Americans were not ones to "give up", and if they were planning to starve her out, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She was an Arctic explorer, built and supplied for the possibility of getting stuck in ice for the better part of a year.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Resolute grinned. Showtime.

"Alright, whoever you are!" she called out. "You'd better be Royal Navy, or-"

The words died in her throat when she got a good look at the woman stepping in. The casual clothes couldn't hide the fact that this was a shipgirl, and one she recognized, which was a big deal in itself. There was only one face she could possibly recognize, one drummed into her head by a starry-eyed frigate named President.

"Constitution..." she breathed.

"'Sup," the frigate grinned. "Y'know, I never did pay you Brits back for the whole 'Burning DC' thing." Slowly, Constitution cracked her knuckles. "I think this'll do, though."

"Those were the Canadians!" Resolute protested. "Besides, I wasn't even under construction then!"

"Don't care!" Constitution declared, before... jumping on the explorer? "Tickle attack!"

"GYAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOOOOOOOO!"


	362. Rule 3230

**Rule 3230. "I'm a battleship, I do what I want" is no excuse to be outside during a tropical storm or hurricane.  
**  
Preparations had gone well. The hatches had been battened down, the destroyers wrangled, supplies stockpiled, and disaster-relief protocols reviewed for the aftermath. Everything was as ready as it could be.

"Wait, where's Nevada?!"

 _Almost_ everything was as ready as it could be.

 _"I think I see her out in the city!"_ Gyatt radioed in.

"What's she doing out in the city?!" New York wailed, pulling at her hair.

"Does it matter?" Oklahoma snapped, heading for the nearest door. "Let's just go and get her out of there before the weather becomes any- ARGLBLARLG"

The minute the battleship opened the door, what looked to be a loose tire, borne by the hurricane's winds, flew smack into Oklahoma's face and sent her flying into the wall. New York and Arkansas immediately moved to close the door, which they did after some difficulty.

"Well, that didn't work," Arkansas muttered. "Gyatt, think you can get in touch with Nevada?"

 _"Already tried that,"_ Gyatt reported. _"All she said was, 'Fuck you, I'm a battleship, I do what I want!'"  
_  
Face blank, Arkansas walked up to the wall and began bashing her head against it.

 _"Oh, and she said something about grabbing a Lapras?"  
_  
And that would be New York joining her.

~o~

Outside, Nevada was oblivious to the opinions of her fellow battleships. She was also oblivious to the rain, to the wind, and to the wind-blown debris, the latter of which was down to excellent luck with the objects hurled into her.

But, as she attempted to (fruitlessly; the cell network was down, after all) hunt that Lapras, her luck ran out. The storm surge had arrived, and Nevada barely had time to look up before it bowled her over and dragged her under. Hand flashing out, she grabbed something solid and hauled herself out of the water.

"Fuck!" she cursed in between gasps of air. "Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have yelled that at Gyatt." Glancing around, she decided she was safe, at least for the moment. "Didn't even get the damn Lapras..."

She had just started another glance around when she spotted something, borne by the wind and tides, streak towards her. She barely had time to gape stupidly before the bright yellow Hummer slammed into her, which combined with the storm surge was enough to knock her loose of her perch.

"Fuuuuuuuuuu- *glub glub*"

~o~

After the hurricane passed, Norfolk surged out to begin disaster relief. And it was during a break in these operations that New York and Oklahoma found themselves talking.

"So," New York opened with. "We never found Nevada."

"My sister'll be fine," Oklahoma replied dismissively. "She's too stupid to die. No, I'm wondering where she is and why she hasn't come back yet."

~o~

Nevada groaned, slowly opening her eyes, and immediately winced at the sensation of too much blood to the head. This was followed by the logical assumption that she'd been tied up and was now hanging upside down, something a glance up confirmed.

"Aw, great," she groaned, wincing in pain as that pulled at sore ribs. "Lose the Lapras, get washed out to sea, and now captured and tied up. Can this day get _any_ worse?"

At that point, the door swung open, admitting a Wo-class carrier in a standard dominatrix outfit brandishing a riding crop. Nevada gulped.

"Me 'n my big mouth..."


	363. Rule 3232

**Rule 3232. Making fun of Inazuma for crashing into people is a suicidal move.  
**  
Consider, now, the phenomenon of Truly Bad Ideas.

Great ideas may come along only once in a lifetime. When the right individual is blessed with the right combination of perfect opportunity and perfect inspiration at the perfect time, the result can be a world-shaking inspiration that no one else could have had.

Bad Ideas are significantly more common.

Indeed, it's not unusual for entire hordes of people, who may be worlds apart in background and temperament and personal resources, who have nothing in common except for opportunity, to all come up with essentially the same Bad Idea. They will all be tremendously proud of themselves. They will all leap headfirst into action, armed with the utter conviction that they just came up with a Bright One. And they'll all believe - or act like they believe - that Nobody Else has ever walked into a brick wall by coming up with this very same Bad Idea before them.

There was one particular Bad Idea that had occurred to a large number of people over the last few years. It was a very Bad Idea, but it was growing more popular all the time, albeit mostly among the poor, hapless Abyssals.

Today, it was Chervona Ukraina's brainstorm.

There's not much that needs to be said about Chervona Ukraina except that she was an obsolete cruiser with a number of poorly thought-out modifications dating back to her Soviet days and an uninspiring war record who mostly sat in Vladivostok and subsisted on pirated anime. What made her truly dangerous to herself and the world was that she otherwise didn't pay much attention to the rest of the world. She never read the papers, changed the channel before she could watch the news, essentially kept the same five hundred tabs open and nothing else on her computer, preferred to discuss anime over the state of the world, and immediately forgot the few news stories she picked up out of osmosis so she could cram more anime into her brain. This state of affairs had led to her overlooking, that is completely missing, that is never once taking note of, such minor trivilialities as, well, every single damn one of the three thousand, two hundred, and thirty-one events that had been immortalized on The List.

This explains her total lack of awareness that many, many, _many_ people and Abyssals, over the last few years, had come up with the very same Bad Idea that she now believed belonged to herself alone.

That idea was to taunt Inazuma about crashing into people for shits and giggles.

She honestly thought she was the first person to ever do this.

She wasn't even the first this week. That poor Re-class.

It was in April that the Russian cruiser, kicked out of Vladivostok by the rest of the fleet there to "Do something productive", made the pilgrimage to that nerd's mecca: Akihabara. Much giggling and purchase of merchandise ensued, and once the latter was dropped off in her hotel room, Ukraina was left wondering what to do next.

"Hmm..." she muttered, staring up at the sign for a maid cafe. "Tempting... but I'm straight. Totally straight. Straight as an arrow. Straight girls don't want to ogle cute maids in their cute uniforms." Nodding decisively at her perfect logic, she pulled out her phone. "Then what should I do..."

A flash of brown hair out the corner of her eye caught Ukraina's attention, and she turned to see Inazuma happily strolling down the sidewalk.

At this point in time, we refer to the reader back to the earlier paragraph on Chervona Ukraina's lifestyle. Among the anime pirated from Japan was a kid's show depicting many of Japan's more popular destroyers in that comedically fluffy and nonsensical way only true children's TV can. And among the running gags was Inazuma protesting, usually in response to someone else, that she didn't run into people _that_ often, only to run smack dab into someone not two seconds later. Usually Miyuki.

So it is sadly unsurprising that Ukraina's reaction was to shout "Hey! Careful with the crowd! You don't want to knock any more people over!" at Inazuma before descending into giggles. Giggles that abruptly died when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Turning around, she had just enough time to process the sight of Tenryuu's scowling (more so than usual) face, before the other light cruiser grabbed her by the collar and slammed her into a light pole.

"You stupid idiot!" Tenryuu shouted, giving the Russian a hard shake. "What were you thinking? I oughta pummel you black and blue, and that's the _nice_ punishment!"

Suddenly, Tenryuu was shoved aside, a snow-haired girl Ukraina recognized as Murakumo taking her place, also grabbing Ukraina's shirt. "You tease Inazuma again," she said, elegantly icy, before slapping Ukraina right on the cheek. "And I'll do a lot worse than that."

Murakumo walked away, and was immediately replaced by Amagiri and Oboro, boxing gloves encasing their hands and gleeful grins on their faces. Just before the punches came in, Ukraina caught a glimpse of some of the destroyers literally lining up behind them: Shikinami tapping a wrench into her palm, Shirayuki and Ayanami with their rigging out, Hibiki breaking a glass bottle on a railing before giving the remainder a few test swings, Miyuki and Ikazuchi twirling their anchors, Sazanami giggling and sorting through a collection of comic books that had Ushio and Sagiri inching away from her, Akebono with a broom and a scowl. Ukraina had just enough time to whimper before Amagiri and Oboro went to work, and after that it was all screaming.

"Huh, must have been classic movie night recently," one of the passersby remarked.


	364. Rule 3233

**Rule 3233. No hanging life-sized teru teru bozu.  
**  
As April rolled into May, Yokosuka was graced with a delightfully sunny and warm day, lacking the oppressive humidity of the summer months. Swimsuits were dusted off, towels washed, and sunscreen purchased, and a veritable horde of shipgirls descended upon the lawn in front of the cruiser dorm for some sunbathing.

Time passed peacefully for a couple hours, until empty stomachs started making their protests known. Suzuya was the first to stir, re-tying her bikini top before standing, flipping up her sunglasses - and screaming.

"KYAAAAAAAAA!"

Scrambling ensued, every shipgirl there rushing to stand and react to whatever had set Suzuya off. And then they, too, saw it; the source could hardly be missed, after all. And thus the scrambling devolved into more screaming and much flinging about to get some space.

The reason? Lining the entire face of the building were teru teru bozu dolls hanging upside down from every window. Oh, and they were person-sized, too.

"Wait, doesn't hanging them upside down-"

Soryu never got to finish that sentence, as the sun suddenly darkened, followed by the heavens opening up in a massive deluge, soaking everyone present.

Her usually serene expression discarded for a mask of twisted fury, Unryu looked every shipgirl present in the eye and growled "Find whoever put those up and _destroy them."  
_  
It was at that point that the teru teru bozu slipped their bonds and phased into the building.

~o~

Humming thoughtfully, Ryuujo hovered the paper charm in her hand over the dirt outside the cruiser dorm, trying to find the exact right spot. After a few more seconds of searching, she found it and slapped the talisman on the ground. A hum filled the air, and the building briefly flashed translucent before resuming its normal appearance.

"There we go," Ryujo said proudly. "All sealed up. They're not getting out before Hornet or Eldridge can get here to properly exorcise them."

Unryu nodded, followed by Mikuma jogging up to them.

"I did a headcount," the cruiser reported. "Only one of us was neither on the lawn nor elsewhere on base, and that's Kinu."

"I might have known," the snow-haired carrier sighed. "So? Where is she?"

Worldlessly, Mikuma pointed to the now-sealed building.

Unryu slowly blinked, while Ryujo slapped her hand to her forehead. "Well, on the plus side, those spirits're based on Buddhist monks, so they're not likely to be _dangerous_ ," she muttered. "Still wouldn't want to be Kinu right now."

~o~

Kinu clutched her ears as every single one of the bozu debated Buddhist practices and philosophy around her. At least it was an improvement over _lecturing_ her. That had left her tempted to jump out a window to escape.


	365. Rule 3235

**Rule 3235. To all Royal Navy ship girls, the police box outside Earl's Court tube station is not a TARDIS. Stop wasting your time waiting for the Doctor to come out or in.  
**  
"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE ALL MY SHIPGIRLS?!"

Crickets and silence met Admiral Grahams shout, and he sighed and plopped his head into his hands.

"Holy shit it's dead in here."

As Graham lifted his head up, he had a brief moment of hope that at least _one_ of his shipgirls was still around. But no, it was just O'Bannon. Still, the despair didn't return, for O'Bannon meant options and information.

"Please tell me you have _some_ idea of what's going on here," he almost begged.

"All I know is that a mob of destroyers ran down the street invading shops and smashing any mannequin they could find," the American answered.

Suddenly, in a flash of insight, Graham realized what was going on. This time, he resisted the urge to bang his head against his desk. He had calls to make, and this would alllll be done with!

His phone rang. With great trepidation, Graham reached over and lifted the receiver, placing it up to his ear. "Hello?"

A massive burst of angry Chinese screeching slammed into his ear, bodily picking him up and throwing him back into the wall. O'Bannon, seeing this, wordlessly walked over, picked up the words "One Canada Square", and then hung the phone up and retrieved a bottle of brandy. Unscrewing the cap, she waved it under his nose.

The effect was immediate. Graham shot up, grabbed the bottle, and then chugged down a good quarter of it. Then, he turned to O'Bannon, and the look on his face made the destroyer take a nervous step back.

"Get me the Force de Raid. Immediately."

~o~

Dunkerque skipped down the streets of London, a happy smile on her face. Of all the things she expected when she woke up today, being allowed, officially, to break a bunch of British ships out of a national pasttime wasn't even on the list as a possibility.

This was why she was skipping along to the National Tramway Museum looking for a blue police box, as Strasbourg was heading to the Earl's Court tube station, the light cruisers to One Canada Square, and the destroyers staying in Portsmouth to halt the anti-mannequin rampage.

As it turned out, the box was very easy to find. The crowd of British shipgirls parked across the street in what they clearly thought was a discreet manner was a dead giveaway. Mentally, Dunkerque snorted. Sunglasses, trenchcoats, and fake mustaches? Not the worst way to conceal your idea, but absolutely terrible for blending in. Especially when they all loitered around the same 30-meter stretch of sidewalk staring at a blue police box.

Right, time to break this little party up.

Reaching into her pocket, Dunkerque retrieved a jumbo-sized can of whipped cream, and stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street-

And then a familiar sound hit Dunkerque's ears and stopped her in her tracks. A sort of wheezing groan noise, like keys dragged down piano wire.

 _'You've got to be kidding me!'  
_  
Slowly, Dunkerque turned around and locked eyes with a rather handsome man with a shock of messy brown hair, poking his head out of the police box. A blonde woman with a shocked expression joined him a second later. And then, Dunkerque blinked and they were gone.

"Did- Did I imagine all zat?" she breathed.

It was at this point that she remembered the Brits she was _supposed_ to be taking care of, and turned around to find them all passed out on the ground, blissful expressions on their faces.

"Zo Plan B is out, zen," she sighed, putting away the whipped cream can. "I never get to do Plan B."


	366. Rule 6065 and Ending Notice

**AN: I am now ending Things Not Allowed, for good.**

 **This was not an easy decision, nor a hasty one. The recent critical review you might have seen has only a little bit to do with this decision. But over the last few weeks, I've been finding myself often wondering if I could just skip writing a snip that day. I had a dream about a week ago on ending this story. Fundamentally, after almost 900 daily snippets, writing this is a chore and my well of inspiration has run dry.**

 **Also, it eats up a lot of time to write these and I have other Kantai Collection projects I want to write instead. So don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. If you want more list-type humor, try checking out the one I'm writing on the Paladins of Voltron. If you want more Kantai Collection, keep an eye on this space for a new story.**

 **Also, I have one last snip for you guys below the linebreak. Enjoy!**

 **~o~**

 **Rule 6065. The RN shipgirls doesn't run only on rum, sodomy and lash. Get your head out of the gutter.**

Newark, head on a swivel, slipped into an Egyptian coffeehouse. With how much tea Royal Navy shipgirls went through compared to how much coffee, she'd probably be safe here. Probably. Sighing, she sunk down into one of the chairs, ordered the strongest drink on the menu, and let the tension flow out of her, mentally cursing Admiral Holloway the entire time for getting her stuck in this sea.

To be fair, most of it was quite nice. Southern Italy was gorgeous: gorgeous food, gorgeous girls, and the Italians were lots of fun. No, it was the fact that she was in _Alexandria_ that was the problem. That was where the British shipgirls were, the product of rum, sodomy, and the lash. It was her understanding that the rum was gone, and the lash was restricted to just Centurion, which just made her fears _worse_. After all, take those other two away, and that left you with just the sodomy.

Actually, you know what? Let's see Newark's mindset in action. As the American cruiser nursed her coffee, the door swung open, English of a particular accent wafting over her.

 _'I-It's them...'_ Newark realized with mounting dread as Achilles and Neptune walked in. Glancing at the two, she mentally cursed as Achilles met her eyes. _'Dammit, it's like she's licking me with her eyes! And that skirt's totally an inch shorter than it was yesterday! She's totally coming on to me!'  
_  
Achilles thankfully turned away, but that only prompted Neptune to turn towards her, with her irritated expression and sleep-deprived eyes.

 _'Oh, shit, Neptune's mad!'_ Newark mentally wailed. _'How jealous does she have to be to express this much anger just because I'm in the same_ room _as Achilles? She must like me so much she's lost her mind...'_ She looked a little harder into the British shipgirl's eyes, and recoiled back. _'Yup! Swimming in madness! I bet she's gonna kill me and have her way with my body, and not in that order!'  
_  
The door swung open again, and more accented English washed over her, except this time it was directed at Newark. "Hey, Newark!" Orion called out. "You should've told me you were getting coffee, I could have joined you!"

By now, Newark was quivering in a combination of fear, shame, anger, and perverse lust; Orion was _not_ helping in that regard. _'And there she is, the raging lesbian in charge! The one who keeps coming back to my quarters over and over in pursuit of my body! And here she is, come to make her fantasies a reality!'  
_  
"Uh, is she alright?"

"I dunno, I've never seen anything like this."

"I have. It's like if you took Centurion and King George and mashed them together."

"Oh, that's just..."

"Yeah..."

The door opened up again, Warspite striding in in all her queenly glory. Newark's eyes widened comically at the sight, especially when Warspite turned towards her. "What is going on here?" she demanded.

 _'W-What's up with this woman! The off-the-shoulder cut, the exposed garters... and that smell! Pheromones! Gotta be pheromones! Tempting me into sexual arousal!'  
_  
Temporarily overwhelmed, Newark slumped back in her chair, the confused British shipgirls exchanging confused glances. "Uh, seriously, can someone tell me what's going on here?" Warspite asked.

"We, uh, think it's some sort of sex thing," Achilles answered. "Somehow. Don't ask me how it works."

"And this on a short night of sleep..." Neptune groaned.

The voices roused Newark from her stupor, and she jolted in place as she realized her position. _'Wait! Shit! I'm surrounded by raging lesbians! The room is ripe with the stench of bitches! They're going to gang-rape me!'_ How they would pull this off with an even larger crowd of curious Egyptians crowding them never crossed her mind. _'But... no matter how they ravish my body... my true American spirit will never give in! I won't... I will never... lose to the likes of you!'  
_  
Suddenly standing on her table, Newark gripped her shirt and ripped it open. "COME ON, THEN!" she declared.

POW!

"Sorry, that just seemed the most appropriate response," Warspite said as she examined the downed and unconscious Newark. "But bloody hell, what is that cruiser's damage?"

Suddenly, Orion's face went green. "Shit, I just remembered. This girl's the American equivalent to _Aso_."

The British shipgirls eyed Newark's prone body with newfound wariness. "Well, at least she's less likely to betray us and kill people?" Achilles weakly offered.


	367. Rule 6479

**AN: Sorry, but this doesn't mean this is back. I just happened to be browsing my old Spacebattles posts, found this, and realized I hadn't ever posted it here! Enjoy!**

 **6479: This ought to have been basic doctrine, but thanks to Sendai, we need to make it double official - When on patrol, and you intercept a message pleading for help from a source not on any of our frequencies, but also not being broadcast in the clear, don't go charging in blindly, call it in. She killed the Bride's father is all!  
**  
Harbour Princess planted her boot on a convenient chest, sweeping her hand out the window overlooking Singapore. The former human city had been thoroughly Abyssalized, factories and refineries churning out supplies, and ships from all across Southeast Asia bringing in raw materials.

[One day,] she announced. [All of this will be yours.]

[Aw, the curtains?]

The sigh Harbour Princess let out was, thankfully, internal. She appreciated having a mobile Boss-type Abyssal on hand, but she had words for The Director over the New Submarine Princess' personality. Really, she had to get over the defection of the Northern Ocean Princess line, because making an even more shy and waifish copy was not the way to deal with it.

[No, not the curtains!] she snapped. [The city, the waters, and the islands within! All of our kingdom, all will be yours someday!]

[But father-!]

[Mother,] Harbour Princess reflexively corrected.

[But mother, I don't want any of that!] New Submarine Princess whined.

This time, the sigh was completely external.

[Listen, noobie,] she said, starting to pace around the room. [D'you know what I've accomplished here? The damn shipgirls have smashed damn near every other Installation in the world. There are four of us left. Four! Midway Princess and Island Siege Empress can do nothing but huddle on their rocks. Submarine Empress throws green-grass troops at convoys she can't crack! _My_ shipgirls shelled Shenzhen a few days ago! Can any of _those_ assholes say the same?] Spinning on her heel, she stared intensely at the other Princess. [That's what you're going to get! The only Abyssal kingdom remaining!]

[But I don't want any of that…] New Submarine Princess whined again.

[Then what _do_ you want?]

Turning a wistful gaze out the window, an orchestral theme starting to sing in the wind, she said, [I'd rather… just… sing!]

[Okay, no, none of that,] Harbour Princess cut in, the music grinding to a halt. Turning, she grabbed the New Submarine Princess by the front of her dress. [Now, in twenty minutes you're going to be married to Midway Princess' last Aircraft Carrier Princess, and then, once the Midway Princess falls - and she will fall, thanks to that _thrice-damned_ Central Princess defecting - all of her forces will be ours, including seven flagship-class carriers, not to mention whatever aircraft manufacturing can be salvaged.]

[But I don't want any of that…]

[I don't bloody care!] Harbour Princess snapped, her temper finally fraying. [And I'm not giving you any choice in the matter! You're going to be marrying that carrier, so you'd better get used to the idea!] Chopping the submarine on the head for good measure, she marched to the door, calling out [Guards!]

Two Ri-class heavy cruisers, both veterans prominently brandishing their guns, tromped in, taking up positions to either side of the door. One of them hiccupped. Nodding, Harbour Princess grabbed the knob.

[Alright, until I come get her, you are not to let the princess leave this room.]

[The princess is not to leave the room, even if you come and get her.]

Pausing with the door swung wide open, Harbour Princess let her head thunk against the wall before turning to address her guards. [Right, I know where this is going. Let me rephrase: if I come back and find that the princess is gone, I will kill the both of you with your own brains, small as they are. Clear?]

[Aye.]

*hic!*

Nodding again, Harbour Princess made to leave - only for her to hear both guards following her. [What are you doing?] she deadpanned.

[Oh, we're following you, ma'am,] the talkative guard said.

*hic!*

Teeth grinding, she turned to the guards, and pointed at their old positions. [Stay. Here. And remember. She stays in the room-] Both guards followed her pointer finger to New Submarine Princess. [Your brains stay in their heads. Capiche?]

[We all stay in the room, and don't leave,] the guard said.

[Exactly.]

[But mother…] the main inhabitant of the room chimed in.

[Oh, shut up!] Harbour Princess snapped, pointing to a nearby mannequin. [Just get that dress on!]

She left, the New Submarine Princess slumped against the window and stared melancholically out of it, the music began to pick up again…

[AND NO SINGING!]

*hic!*

With the Harbour Princess gone entirely, New Submarine Princess suddenly shifted her entire demeanor. No longer was there a whiny brat moping by the window; in its place was that brand of deviousness only young children were capable of. Standing, she grabbed the bow hanging on the wall - presumably to help her get used to the idea of marrying a carrier - and retrieved a note she'd saved for this exact situation. Said note was wrapped around an arrow, and after a glance at the guards - who were just smiling dumbly at her - she raised the bow, drew, and fired, the arrow soaring off over the horizon.

 _[There. That should do it…]_

~o~

Quite a ways northeast, skirting through the Natunas archipelago, was a small Japanese scouting group investigating the defenses in the southern basin of the South China Sea. This was a small group, focusing on stealth over speed or firepower, and as such Sendai had been the perfect choice.

Kawakaze less so. The fiery destroyer did not, at first blush, fit the stealth profile required. Then she'd snuck into the open competition they'd held to provide Sendai with a little destroyer backup - and she'd slowly slaughtered the competition, unseen and untouched. She modeled herself after Sendai, after all, and fiery personality or not, Sendai was very much the consummate ninja, which meant she had to be.

And the two were getting along famously.

"Alright, be careful for reefs," Sendai said as the two threaded through the islands. "Don't ask me why, but a high enough reef will still ground us even though we don't really draw water anymore." In demonstration, she pulled a tight turn around a mound of coral Kawakaze could barely see.

"I see!" the destroyer said, repeating the maneuver. "But what if we don't have space to turn?"

"Then, my young protege, we must jump!" Sendai declared, eyeing a suitable spot. "Follow my lead! And… jump!" And so she did. "Come on, Kawakaze!"

Suddenly, the sound of an arrow whistled through the air, followed by a meaty thump. "Message for ya, Sendai," Kawakaze groaned, arrow sticking from her chest, before she collapsed backwards in a heap.

"Kawakaze!" Sendai yelped, rushing forward to grab the destroyer. "Kawakaze, speak to me!"

There was no response, but her blowers were going, which calmed down the light cruiser enough to see the scrap of paper tied to the arrow.

"How'd she know there was a message on this thing?" Sendai muttered as she grabbed said paper and unraveled it.

 _"To whoever finds this note,_

 _I have been imprisoned by my mother, who wishes me to marry against my will. Please, please, please come and rescue me. I am in the 54th storey of Tanjong Pagar."_

The note fluttering away, Sendai stood, a triumphant expression on her face. "At last, a call, a cry of distress! How can I say no?" Wiping away a bit of drool, she clapped Kawakaze on the shoulder, not noticing the action jolt the destroyer awake. "Brave, brave Kawakaze, you shall not have died in vain!" So declaring, Sendai brandished her rigging and dug in her heels to sprint for Singapore.

"Uh, I'm not quite dead, Sendai."

Freezing in place, Sendai glanced back at Kawakaze, who was now awake but still immobile. After a pause, she turned back out to sea, declaring "Well, you shall not have been mortally wounded in vain!"

"Yeah, I'm not sinking anytime soon," the destroyer countered, glancing down at the arrow. "My fairies just need to get some steam lines rerouted, and then I should be good to go."

Slumping, Sendai leaned against a rock, a dark cloud hanging over her. "Can you just let me have the moment?"

Rolling her eyes, Kawakaze indicated to Sendai to continue.

"Farewell, sweet Kawakaze!" the light cruiser declared, before speeding off.

Sighing, Kawakaze eyed the arrow again, and queried her fairies for when her propulsion would be back online.

~o~

The Tanjong Pagar Center was alive with Abyssals, cruisers, carriers, battleships, and submarines all. The bride was being fussed over by a pair of Wos, and all around them more Abyssals were talking, eating, laughing, and dancing. Supply Depot Princess had made an appearance as the DJ, and the Director herself had shown up to officiate the whole thing!

And had anyone in the human navies seen the vast crowd, they likely would have filled the air with enough curses to fell a dark god, mostly because it meant their official estimates of Singapore's strength were off by an order of magnitude.

None of this particularly mattered to the two Ri-class hanging out by the front entrance, watching the last of the guests go in. Such strategic matters were well over their heads, and they were more interested in the _fine_ Abyssal ladies and a tasty mandarin orange, respectively.

Of course, once the guests were inside, that left them very little to do. In truth, the guards were a formality; who would be _daft_ enough to assault Singapore without a very large and thus very visible fleet?

The orange-clad shipgirl charging up the street towards them, apparently.

The sheer daftness of the idea perhaps explains why the two guards simply stood there staring as the shipgirl charged towards them. That, and the Ri-class was not a particularly bright line (incidentally, this was why there were very few among the Allied Abyssals). In fact, the only reaction one of the guards had was a weak "Hey…" when Sendai fired her guns into orange-eater's face and then stabbed a torpedo in her gut that blew her to pieces.

From there, Sendai didn't pause to… well, do anything except shoot and torpedo her way through the guards and the guests. Shells consumed them, torpedoes ripped out their guts, and an errant backhand collapsed the DJ stand, sending the DJ tumbling. Bursting through the interior lobby, she carved a bloody swathe on her way towards the stairs, completely ignoring the elevators. Of course, as she kicked down the door to the stairwell, it occurred to her that the poor damsel had mentioned she was on the 64th storey.

"No matter," she breathed. "I'm coming for you, my princess!"

And so up the stairs she went. No bloody swathe was carved this time, if only because the only ones roaming the stairs were a few guards that stood zero chance against the charging shipgirl. Finally, she reached the 64th storey, busted down the largest and most ornate door she could find, and jabbed her second-to-last torpedo into one of the Ris standing guard.

[Now, you're not allowed to enter the room-] the other Ri began, only for Sendai's last torpedo to get shoved between her ribs.

Ignoring the last guard as her torpedo ended its life, Sendai smoothly shifted into a kneeling position in front of the last inhabitant of the room. "My princess, behold your humble servant, light cruiser Sendai of Yokosuka. I have come to take-" Then she actually got a good look at said inhabitant. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry."

To Sendai's internal dismay, the Abyssal she'd been two seconds from pledging fealty to brightened considerably. Mostly because it made her look disgustingly adorable. [You got my note!] she happily said, putting down the paper and arrow she'd been playing with.

"W-Well, I got _a_ note…"

[You've come to rescue me!] the small, cute, and obviously _not for lewding_ Abyssal said, gripping Sendai's arm.

"Ah, well, you see, um…"

[I knew that someone would! I knew that somewhere out there, there must be someone…]

Sendai frantically looked about as music from nowhere swelled to a crescendo.

[Stop that! Stop that!]

And then was even more confused as the music died and the fucking _Harbour Princess_ suddenly entered the picture.

[Stop it! Stop it!] The music done, Harbour Princess turned, slumped against the wall, and practically froze.

 _[Shit! That's Yasen! I didn't believe the rumors, but they're clearly true, and I have no chance against her in close combat!]_

 _'Shit!'_ Sendai was thinking at the same time. _'That's the Harbour Princess, right there! I'm dead, I'm so dead!'_

None of this showed on their faces. None of them acted on that. In fact, all Harbour Princess said was a terse [Who are you?]

[I'm-]

[Not you!]

"W-Well, I'm Sendai, ma'am," the light cruiser said, happily confused at her continued life.

[She's come to rescue me, mother!] New Submarine Princess chimed in.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions…" said 'rescuer' muttered.

[Did you kill all those guards?]

"Uh…" Sendai considered that. There had been a lot of those Ri-class, and they'd been decked out in fancy outfits… "Oh, yes! Sorry."

[They took six months to train!]

"Well, I'm awfully sorry, and I really can't say anything-"

[Look!] New Submarine Princess cut in, holding up a length of tied bedsheet. [I've got a rope all ready!]

Both Harbour Princess and Sendai ignored her. [You killed eight wedding guests!]

"Well, you see, the things is, I thought your daughter was a shipgirl," Sendai sheepishly explained. "Brainwashed, or Abyssalfied or something. Happens to Jintsuu often enough."

[Well, I can understand _that!]_

[Sendai, hurry!] New Submarine Princess called as she climbed out the window.

[Shut up!] Turning back to Sendai, Harbour Princess said, [You killed Midway Princess, who's the bride's mother, is all!]

Internally, Sendai was cheering at that. Externally, she said, "I really didn't mean to." before shoving the cringe down.

[Didn't mean to?! You put your gun right through her head!]

"Oh…" Sendai muttered. "Is she alright…?"

[You even kicked the bride in the chest! This going to cost me a fortune...]

"Well, I can explain. See, I was poking around Natunas when I got this note-"

Suddenly, Harbour Princess perked up. [Natunas?]

"Well, yes. Scouting out landing sites and airfield locations, y'know?"

[Hurry, Miss Sendai!]

Harbour Princess fell into thought. The Natunas archipelago was ideally position to provide air support to further advances in either Borneo or a push into Malaysia. On the other hand, if she _knew_ that the humans were coming, she could position suitable submarine forces to suppress and disrupt any efforts ahead of time, at which point they'd be damn near impossible to dislodge. A plan began to form in her mind. It was insane, but the kind of insane that might just work

[I'm ready!]

And maybe tie up that little nuisance, too.

[Would you like to come have a drink?] Harbour Princess offered.

"Really?" Sendai replied, her surprise plain. "That's… awfully nice of you."

[I AM READY!]

"Most people aren't usually this understanding," Sendai continued as the two headed for the door, Harbour Princess taking a moment to cut the bedsheet rope. "See, when I get into Yasen mode, I tend to get a bit… carried away…"

[Don't you worry about that!]

As they left, neither heard a loud, wet thump from outside the window.

~o~

The main wedding area was a scene of carnage and grief as Sendai and Harbour Princess descended down the stairs. Medics were tending to those who could be tending, and the Director and quite a few wailing, breast-tearing Abyssals were standing vigil over those who couldn't. It was all very touching, and Sendai found the only reason she cared was that the Harbour Princess was _still there!_

[-And then we knocked out part of a floor there, made this whole convention area a lot bigger, and, of course, redecorated-]

And she would just not. Stop. Talking! Whether it was praising her best Abyssals, detailing the remodeling they'd done on the building, or just gushing about how much she wanted to rip and tear every last human on the planet, the Harbour Princess was astoundingly chatty when she was trying to be friendly.

[There she is!]

Of course, that was a moot point when someone down below spotted Sendai on the stairs.

[Oh, bloody hell…] Harbour Princess groaned as a chunk of the crowd and several surviving guards rushed Sendai, who had contrived to get in front of her.

And naturally, the shipgirl reacted the only way she could: by raising her guns and spraying shells downrange. Three more guards and several near-misses with the Director later, and Harbour Princess had successfully pulled Sendai back, the crowd pulling away due to a combination of Sendai murdering more Abyssals near-effortlessly and Harbour Princess' own pleas.

"Sorry, sorry, you see what I mean?" Sendai muttered. "I just get carried away…" Louder, she said, "Sorry! Sorry, everyone!"

"She's killed the bridesmaid!" the Director retorted, though the smug grin on her face screamed that she was enjoying this. Bitch.

The angry shouts returned, and if her plan was to work Harbour Princess needed to stop that. [Hold it, hold it, please, hold it!] she announced. Miraculously, they did. [This… is Sendai of Yokosuka! A very skilled shipgirl with considerable influence!] From the incredulous look Sendai shot her, that part wasn't true. Shit. Continue with the plan. [And my special guest for today!]

Harbour Princess then braced for objections. She wasn't disappointed.

[She killed my aunt!]

[My equipment! Broken beyond repair!]

[I had a guard fall on me!]

[Please, please!] Amazingly, the shouting died down again. [This is supposed to be a happy occasion! Let's not bicker and argue about who killed who. We are here today to witness the union of two young people in the bond of holy wedlock.]

There was some grumbling at that, but the crowd seemed to be accepting that. _[Alright. Now for the tricky part.]_

[Unfortunately, one of them, my dear daughter New Submarine Princess, has just fallen to her death.]

The grumbling turned sympathetic, though the Director had a look on her face that screamed _'I wouldn't buy that if it was on sale, dipshit!'_ Oh well.

[But, in losing a daughter, I have gained one as well. And since the tragic death of her mother-]

[Ah, she's not quite dead yet!] came a voice from the crowd.  
 _  
[Of all the things!]_ [Since the… near-fatal wounding of her mother-]

[She's getting better!]

Indeed, Midway Princess, though bloodied and missing chunks of her head, was standing with help. Sighing internally, Harbour Princess signalled one of her guards.

[Since her mother - who seemed snatched from the icy claws of death - was about to recover-]

A muffled gunshot rang out, and Midway Princess slumped to the ground, dead.

[Oh! She's dead!]

The bride wailed mournfully at that.

[And I want her only daughter to look upon me as a mother, too!] Harbour Princess declared. [In a real and legal sense!]

Scattered applause.

 _[And now, the finale,]_ Harbour Princess thought, internally bracing herself. [And now, to ensure the union between the princess and the… brave, but dangerous Sendai of Yokosuka-]

"Wait, what?" Sendai piped up. Turning her head, she found Harbor Princess glaring down at her, every inch of body language screaming _'Play along, or you're dead.'_

 _'How did I get myself into this situation?!'_ Sendai wailed. _'I'm a free spirit! Monogamy is a shackle!'_ She eyed the Aircraft Carrier Princess, and licked her lips. _'Though… that's quite nice… and maybe I can swing an open relationship…'_ Suddenly, she shook her head, dispelling those thoughts. _'No! They'll probably want a ton of political concessions! And I can't get away, so I'm screwed from both ends!'_

Suddenly, footsteps sounded out on the shattered glass and concrete littering the floor. All heads turned to see Kawakaze, the sun framing her back and her rigging full out. "I'm here to back you up, Sendai!" the destroyer declared.

 _'Yes!'_

[Ah, young destroyer!] Harbour Princess crowed. [You're just in time to see Sendai wed in holy matrimony!]

To Sendai's dismay, that prompted Kawakaze to dismiss her rigging. "Cool! I've always wanted to be in a wedding! Can I be a bridesmaid?"

[Of course, of course!]

 _'No!'_

~o~

"So, let me get this straight," Naka deadpanned. "You, love 'em and leave 'em Sendai, are now married to an Aircraft Carrier Princess."

"Hey, I object to that remark!" Sendai protested.

[Oh, no way would I let my darling leave me!] said Aircraft Carrier Princess said as she clung to her wife. [She's soooo skilled.]

"And with that marriage comes the Harbour Princess ceding us the Natunas in exchange for a ceasefire with Japanese forces," Jintsuu picked up, just as flat as Naka.

"Yeah, Admiral Goto nearly blew a fuse at that."

"And on top of all that, this is because you crashed an Abyssal wedding and killed a bunch of them." That would be Naka again.

[She kicked me in the chest and killed my mother!] Aircraft Carrier Princess chirped.

Both Sendai sisters gaped at that, stunned at the sheer nonchalance. It was in this silence that Kiso walked up to the group, slurping a cup of cola through a straw and Hokaze hanging off her shoulder.

"I'd say I feel sorry for you," the chuuni light cruiser stated, before taking a very loud sip of her drink. "Buuuut I don't."

Groaning, Sendai let her head thunk against the table.

~o~

Hundreds of miles away, the New Submarine Princess was stretching out her newly healed limbs. Thank goodness the wedding had distracted everyone; she hadn't expected Harbour Princess to outright try and kill her like that.

[Bitch,] the young Abyssal spat, before sighing. The Director wouldn't be happy about this, after she was put out explicitly to try and reign in the increasingly independent Harbour Princess. This agreement with the Japanese was just the last straw.

[You were right about one thing, Harbour Princess,] the young-looking Abyssal growled. [I will inherit your whole kingdom. But I'll do it by prying your crown off your cold, dead corpse. MARK MY WORDS!]

~o~

And in Singapore, Harbour Princess raised her glass of coconut milk to the setting sun. [To an improvisation well-executed,] she said, before slugging back the drink.


	368. Rule 3239

**Rule 3239: All shipgirls are reminded that public fountains are not to be used for recreation or bathing.**

With a keening wail, the Ta-class battleship Bolzano had been fending off was buried under an avalanche of antiship missiles and slipped beneath the Potomac. Yes, the Potomac. What, you may ask, was an Italian shipgirl doing fighting Abyssals on the Potomac river?

Basically, the Submarine Empress had finally gotten sick and tired of trying to crack the Atlantic convoys, and had instead gone for a softer target: DC. To accomplish this, she had continued her usual strategy of throwing bodies at the convoys, before sneaking a force up the Potomac to start shelling. And it might have worked, too, because nobody caught wind of the plan before horrified onlookers saw the Abyssals steaming up the river, brazen as you pleased.

So sad for the Abyssals, then, that the Zara sisters had happened to be just getting off the plane at Reagan International when that happened. They'd held off the Abyssals for the time air units in the area had needed to load up on antiship munitions and sprint in.

With the action now over, Bolzano slumped over, grasping at several painful injuries that were the natural consequence of a cruiser getting in a fight with a battleship.

"You alright?"

Gritting her teeth, Bolzano straightened, staring into Fiume's worried eyes. "No, but I've had worse," she ground out. She looked her sister over; must have been fighting the lighter Abyssal ships, because her damage was all cosmetic. "Zara, Pola?"

"Zara's damaged, but not too badly. She should be here soon," Fiume replied. "Pola... minor damage, but last I saw her, she was sprinting into DC proper. Probably after a straggler."

Bolzano didn't ask if Fiume had alerted the Americans; there was no _need_ to ask.

"I guess we'll meet up with her in DC," Bolzano said. "What about repairs-?"

"They're setting up in Andrews!" Zara announced as she steamed up. "They'll be retrieving Pola themselves. They asked us to head over to National Harbor to be picked up, it's just down the river."

"Sounds good. Let's-"

At once, all three of their phones alerted them to an incoming text message. Curious, they pulled out their phones as they set out down the river. No words were included in the message, just a video. Zara was the first to open it.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"

Once again, there was no need to ask, though this time it was because all three cruisers were watching the same thing: cell phone footage of a nude Pola washing off the grime of battle in the reflection pool on the Washington Monument. Zara, with the most experience with Pola's antics, just looked resigned after her initial outburst. Fiume was turning red, the color creeping down her neck.

And Bolzano?

Groaning, she cradled her head in her hands. "We're gonna diiiiiie..." she whimpered.

~o~

Hibiki sighed contentedly as she sank onto a park bench, resting her weary feet. Beside her, Gangut also sat, watching the rest of Desdiv 6 run around laughing happily.

"Thank you for inviting my sisters," Hibiki said in Russian. "They were due for a break. Inazuma especially."

"It was no problem, comrade tiny one!" Gangut boisterously declared. "Anything for a friend of the Revolution!"

Wordlessly, Hibiki raised an eyebrow, memories of Gangut's many bourgeoisie pleasures flowing through her mind. Gangut flinched under the gaze, beads of nervous sweat running down her brow.

"Er, anything for a cute young friend such as you?"

Better. The pressure vanished, and Gangut relaxed, slumping into the bench. Hibiki leaned back herself, closing her eyes to take in the sound of the wind in the trees of the park they were in, the cars rumbling by, the splashing of the fountain in the center of the park, and her sisters splashing in said fountain-

Wait a minute.

Hibiki opened her eyes, taking in the fountain. It was a very nice fountain, Soviet-era, a ring-shaped pool with a spout in middle, a ring of spouts closer to the rim, and additional spouts mounted in said rim. Also, Inazuma, Ikazuchi, and Akatsuki had taken off their shoes and socks and were happily splashing in the pool. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Gangut stand and march towards the fountain.

"Bozhe moi..." Hibiki groaned, tugging her hat down on her face. She was not getting between Inazuma and some relaxing splashing, and if Gangut was smart she wouldn't try.

"Ah, little ones, please, fountain is not for splashing..." the battleship tried in heavily accented Japanese. "Please come out and ARGHBLARGL."

Hibiki sniffed. Ozone. Yup. Definitely the right decision.


	369. Rule 3240

**Rule 3240: Rigging is not to be used for pest extermination. That is all.**

"'I want to be deployed!', I said," Ashigara grumbled to herself. "'I want to actually _fight!',_ I said. I should've known that would bite me in my ass."

"Eh, you get used to it," Maya shrugged.

Wiping sweat off her forehead, Ashigara favored the other cruiser with a blistering glare. "It is _hot,"_ she groused, waving her now-off jacket and plucking at her sweat-soaked shirt. "And _humid._ And we're sitting on our asses on _land_ instead of going out to see where it's a little cooler!"

"Okay, yeah, that part's not great."

Sighing explosively, Ashigara looked over what was to be her home base for the foreseeable future - and the home base of Maya, Kuma, and Desdiv 4 - Nowaki, Maikaze, Arashi, and Hagikaze. Situated on the north coast of Borneo some thirty miles distant from the ruins of Bandar Seri Begawan, it currently consisted of some quonset huts for the construction workers, a whole lot of bulldozers plowing over space for an airfield, and some brand-new, cheap wood-sided housing for them situated right next to the pier.

Not the best assignment she'd ever had, but certainly not the worst! Hard to beat having to sit neck-deep in Mekong Delta mud for six hours. Regardless, everyone was sick and tired of the Abyssals lobbing 8" shells into the airfield, so here they were.

"Maya, if you could go talk to the base commander about the Abyssals and timing?" Ashigara said. "I'm going to go check our living quarters." Under her breath, she muttered, "They'd better be livable."

"Yes, ma'am!" Maya enthusiastically saluted. "But, ah, what about the destroyers? And Kuma?"

"I think they're sufficiently occupied," Ashigara blandly remarked, glancing a specific direction.

Maya followed her gaze to a stretch of beach sand, where Kuma and the destroyers were happily playing in the water.

"Yup, sufficiently occupied," Maya nodded. "Alright, good luck, boss lady!"

~o~

Ashigara opened the door, bracing for everything from a decent camp cabin to a barren cot on rotten floorboards. Thankfully, the setup was more towards the former end: a cheap but decent bed, nightstand, and set of drawers, all on a decent square footage. It desperately needed a coat of paint on the walls, but that was about the only complaint.

Then a cockroach scuttled out from under the bed.

"Of course it's not sealed properly..." Ashigara sighed, stepping on the roach. It went squish with no problem.

Then another, slightly bigger one crawled out. That one went squish, too. Then came a third-

Which promptly got nommed on by the biggest damn centipede Ashigara had ever seen. Seriously, the thing's head was the size of one of Kongo's tea coasters. Slowly, and with great trepidation, Ashigara stepped forward and lifted up the bed.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAA!"

~o~

Getting the information from the base commander was straightforward - he was the obsessive type and had kept a record of the attacks. Actually analyzing it was going to be a pain in the ass, but hey, Ashigara liked doing that kind of stuff. Or at least didn't mind.

As she walked back to their new quarters, Maya swung inland along a new path, a path that skirted along an algae-choked pond. Naturally, a mosquito flew up to her and went for a bit, bouncing off her army. That didn't stop her from smacking it dead.

"Fucking mosquitoes," she grumbled, continuing on.

Slowly, she became aware of a dull droning sound. Instincts kicked in and made her scan the sky for Abyssal or American aircraft. Nothing. But that droning was becoming louder. Her head on a swivel, she searched all around her for the source of-

Oh. Oh wow. That was a lot of mosquitoes. That was a lot of _very big_ mosquitoes. That was a lot of _very big_ mosquitoes heading _right for her!  
_  
"KYAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

~o~

KA-BLAM!

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA!

Kuma and the destroyers all jumped at the explosions and chattering dakka-dakka of automatic fire that sprang up separately almost simultaneously. And as silly as the light cruiser acted sometimes, she _was_ a professional when it mattered.

"Nowaki!" she barked. "Go find Maya, either back her up or talk her down, kuma! I'm going to go find Ashigara!"

"Aye!" Nowaki replied, before sprinting off, the rest of the division trailing behind her.

Kuma, for her part, began jogging to the pier. About halfway there, the explosions cut off, and on arrival Kuma quickly grasped why. Ashigara stood alone in a crater, surrounded by burnt wood. There was simply nothing left to shoot.

"What the heck happened, kuma?" the light cruiser asked.

"Bugs... so many bugs..." Ashigara whimpered.

"Aw, we could've eaten those, kuma."

WHAM!

Kuma jumped, then leaned over the lip of the crater, where Ashigara was pressed face-down into the dirt. "You alright?"

"Never better..."


	370. Rule 3250

**Rule 3250: Whoever was the one that kidnapped Goto, Enterprise and Truxtun. Please give yourself up so we can give you proper punishment. It's that or get killed by their (possessive, yandere) girlfriends.**

Truxtun Cross slowly came to wakefulness with numb hands, a throbbing pain in his skull, and an inability to move more than a millimeter or two. He immediately opened his eyes and ran through his kidnapping checklist. Location? Standard concrete box. Condition? Good, except for a pounding headache. He frowned, thinking it over some more. That was a "hit to the head" kind of headache, not "stress" or "hangover". Bonds? He gave the ropes tying him up a tug. When they slipped a bit, he smiled slightly.

He turned his head to the side and started in surprise at the sight of Admiral Goto right next to him. A look to the opposite direction revealed Enterprise, trussed up in heavy chains.

Unsurprisingly, both were sporting looks that could not only peel paint, but set it ablaze.

"Ah, good, you're awake, Mr. Cross," Admiral Goto said, sounding perfectly pleasant. As pleasant as the sun. "We were just discussing who might have done this."

"We have some... ideas, but we'd like to hear them from you, first," Enterprise added, also perfectly pleasant. As pleasant as a bright jungle frog.

"Mind if I hear them first? Rather not have overlap, y'know?"

"Of course, of course," Goto nodded, along with Enterprise.

"Right," Truxtun sighed. "Well, y'know how I've been kidnapped by man-hungry shipgirls _twice?"_ More nods. "Yeah, I've been getting _letters_ lately."

From the expressions of Goto and Enterprise, that hadn't convinced them. "But why kidnap _us,_ too?" the carrier wondered.

Truxtun shrugged, as much as he could. "Hey, they're willing to risk the wrath of Louisiana anyway. How rational could they be."

More nods. "I think my case is similar to yours," Goto stated. "I have... an admirer. And while she's had admirable willpower so far, I wouldn't be surprised if it's run out?"

"Worktown?" Enterprise prompted.

"Worktown."

"And as for me..." Enterprise trailed off, frowning. Her lips moved, and Truxtun leaned towards her, just barely catching her counting under her breath.

Whistling, Truxtun leaned back. "Enterprise's made a lot of enemies, hasn't she?"

"Yup."

Enterprise was still counting when the door swung open, a backlit figure standing in the frame.

"Strasbourg," Truxtun calmly said. "I should've guessed."

"Honhonhonhonhon!" the French battleship cackled. "Yes! Eet eez I, Strasbourg, here to steal your heart!"

"You do know what Louisiana will do to you when she finds me, right?"

"I'm French! I'll 'ave your heart well before she can find me!"

And with that, she spun on her heel and marched out.

~o~

Strasbourg closed the door behind her, and immediately crouched down, clutching her head and shivering.

"Oh, nononononon..." she whimpered. "What ze hell are _Enterprise_ and _Admiral Goto_ doing here? _One_ pissed off battleship eez on zing, but _zree?_ Oh, nonononononon..."

Wrapped up in her own terror, Strasbourg didn't notice someone else open the door. Nor did that person notice Strasbourg curled up in a ball.

~o~

The door swung open again, admitting another backlit figure. Admiral Goto sighed in resignation. "Called it."

Worktown either didn't hear or ignored the comment as she strutted up to the Admiral and draped herself over him, running a finger up his cheek. [Ah, Admiral, I am sorry about this,] the Allied Abyssal purred. [But I just couldn't _take it_ anymore... I have to have you, Admiral. And I'd much prefer to have you willingly.]

Standing, Worktown turned and left, but not before throwing a flirtatious wink over her shoulder. [Think on it, okay?]

"Like that's going to happen," Goto muttered as the door slammed shut.

~o~

Worktown closed the door behind her, let out a deep breath - and then collapsed into a fetal position.

[That's Enterprise and Truxtun Cross in there!] she wailed. [What the hell! Who thought kidnapping _those two_ was a good idea?!]

You'd think that with two more sets of eyes arriving, and double the bodies on the floor, somebody would have noticed _something.  
_  
You'd also be wrong.

~o~

Once again, the door opened, two figures backlit this time. Finally, it was Enterprise's turn, and from the clank of the chains that was the only thing stopping her from facepalming.

"Really?!" she snapped. "Are you two _seriously_ still this salty about Yamato sniping your record?!"

"Yes!" Warspite and Scharnhorst shot back in unison.

Rolling her eyes, Enterprise continued, "So what makes you so sure that _this_ time won't just end in yet another beating?"

"Because we have you!" Scharnhorst replied. "Because with you, we can _force_ her to play nice and not beat us up!"

Silence greeted this declaration. Then Truxtun deadpanned, "This is Scharnhorst's plan, isn't it."

Warspite slumped over. "Yes..."

"Come on, it's a great plan!" Scharnhorst snapped. "Now come on, we need to be out there to meet them!"

~o~

Warspite had just closed the door behind her when Scharnhorst tried to headbutt the wall. Frantically, Warspite put herself in the way and caught it.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed.

"We're doomed. Doomed!" Scharnhorst moaned. "Or did you not see Admiral Goto and Truxtun Cross tied up next to Enterprise?!"

"I'm trying not to think about it..."

"We need a plan!" Scharnhorst continued, pacing about. Well, she would have been pacing about had she not tripped over something and fallen flat on her face.

"Owie..."

"Huh, Worktown," Warspite remarked as she examined the lump Scharnhorst had tripped over. Glancing over her shoulder showed Strasbourg, still crouched with her hands on top of her head. "Hmm..."

~o~

"Well, this has been lovely, but I think it's time we stopped playing along with this farce. If only so we don't lose three valuable shipgirls and our best Allied Abyssal."

So saying, Truxtun shrugged off the ropes tying him to his chair. At the looks he got from Goto and Enterprise, he shrugged.

"Strasbourg didn't do a good job with the knots, what can I say?"

Goto and Enterprise shared a _look,_ one that Truxtun knew was of the kind between an officer and a very trusted subordinate, and with a simultaneous heave of their muscles, both shredded their bonds - Enterprise also tearing them out of the wall and Goto ripping up his uniform jacket to reveal his bare and very defined chest. While Truxtun was no slouch in this department, he felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

"Alright," Goto stated, command leaking from every syllable. "We'll rush the door. My pecs should buy us a few seconds to act. Enterprise, take down Worktown. Truxtun-"

Whatever the plan was for the one squishy human in the group, it was lost forever when the door banged open and Warspite, Worktown, and Scharnhorst dropped into kowtowing poses, Strasbourg behind them waving a white flag.

"We surrender!" they declared. "Immediately and unconditionally!


	371. Rule 3255

**Rule 3255. The Fletchers should immediately forget about hosting a similar party tour along the US and Mexican coast!**

Admiral Holloway massaged his forehead as he read through the damage report on the U-Boats' run through the Straits of Malacca on their way to Yokosuka. Well. The Type IX and other long-range U-Boats, thank Poseidon. If the Type VIIs had gone, too...

Anyway, what had started as a mass birthday trip for U-511 and the start of a submarine offensive into Indonesia from Japan had turned into a _party tour_ hitting every major tourist destination from Phuket to Yokohama. The bar tab rivaled the GDP of a small country, the list of heartbroken girls that of a small city, and the property damage...

Well. He didn't envy Admiral Hartmann this morning, put it that way. He sent a prayer skyward in thanks that he didn't have to deal with this specific brand of bullshit.

A knock sounded on his door. Holloway felt his hands twitch towards his liquor stash.

"Come in!" he called out. The door opened, and _both_ Laffeys walked in, looking nervous. The pit in his stomach widened into a yawning chasm. "Oh no. Don't tell me-"

"Sorry, but Nicholas and Kidd got it in their heads to do an East Coast version of what the U-Boats did," Laffey senior said.

Well, that wasn't _too_ ba-

"They invited the entire Fletcher sisterhood," Laffey junior added.

Aaaaand there was the pit again. Shooting to his feet, Holloway sprinted out the door, hoping to catch the destroyers before they got off the base. He barely got out of the building before the two Laffeys caught up to him and helpfully informed he was too late.

"They left on a flight to JFK this morning!"

"Chartered plane, no flight info to intercept!"

"Hell, even Jersey didn't notice until almost 9!"

Gritting his teeth, Holloway skidded to a halt and then, roaring, punched a nearby tree square in the trunk, toppling it.

"Laffey," he ground out, both destroyers instinctively standing a little straighter. "I want a war council formed _yesterday_ so no one burns out keeping track of the mess we're about to have dropped in our laps."

"Yes sir!"

~o~

William D. Porter groaned as the cool mercy of Morpheus gave way to the brutality of Apollo. Rolling over, she tried to cover her eyes and get out of the sun - and amazingly, did so - but that only reduced her headache from "Thor testing his new hammer" to "All the baby elephant walks". In other words, still very painful.

How did she get such a nasty headache, anyway? Why did her mouth feel like it was stuffed with cotton? Why did she feel sticky, and feel sand under said sticky body? Well, there was really only one way to find out.

Willie D. opened her eyes, and immediately shut them when something tried to repeatedly stab them with tiny little cactus spines. It was a few minutes more before she tried again, and she lasted a little longer before slamming them shut.

Slowly, Willie D. repeated the action, until she finally was able to keep her eyes open with only a dull throb. What she saw did little to clear things up. Palm trees towered over her, and grass sprouted up from the sand she was lying on. She could tell now that the day was warm, despite the shade, and could smell the sea on the air.

Nothing for it. She'd have to stand. Groaning, she pulled herself to her feet, whimpering from aching muscles and one hand using a palm tree to help support her weight. She shuffled up the dune she'd been sleeping on, cresting it.

There, sprawled out in a massive cuddlepile on a beach that had probably been nice before a 175-person block party descended upon it, were her sisters. All of them. All blissfully dead to the world.

Now everything came rushing back to Willie. The plan. The trip. Nicholas convincing her to join. Flying out to New York. Practically looting Atlantic City; the drew a morose sigh from the destroyer. "I wanted to visit more than once..." she lamented. And then... well, after Philadelphia things got hazy. Probably because that's when O'Bannon and what seemed like her entire liquor collection joined them. She had a sneaking suspicion they'd done _something_ in Veracruz that meant they would never return to _that_ city, either.

With that in mind, Willie D. was all ready to just lie down somewhere and rest off her aches and hangover, but as she looked over the cuddlepile again, something occurred to her.

"Hang on, where are Nicholas, Kidd, and O'Bannon?"

~o~

"Just so you know?" O'Bannon stated. "I blame you for this."

On the opposite side of the pole the two destroyers were tied to, Nicholas snorted derisively. "I didn't see _you_ objecting to this excursion at _any_ point."

"Yeah, well, you still should've stopped me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Silence fell, filled by the stamping of feet, the pounding of drums, and much tribal war chants. Well. "Tribal". In truth, the "tribesmen" were just the population of a seaside Yucatan town that had gone a little nutters after the Abyssals showed up, diving straight into primitivism.

And then Nicholas, O'Bannon, and Kidd had drunkenly stumbled onto them. As it turns out, fear is one hell of a hangover cure.

The drums began to pick up their cadence, and the two destroyers turned their heads to a procession snaking its way out of the jungle, four honor guard leading a primitive palanquin holding-

"Aw, dammit, I knew letting Kidd watch the Pirates of the Caribbean movies was a bad idea," Nicholas groaned.

"You actually let her?!" O'Bannon demanded.

Kidd, extra eyes painted onto her cheeks, eyed her sisters and gave a dismissive wave and some orders in Spanish.

"You know any Spanish?"

"Nope."

"Dammit."

~o~

Willie shrugged. Those three could take care of themselves. Right now, she had to decide whether to play innocent or throw herself at Holloway's feet and beg for forgiveness.


	372. Rule 3257

**3257\. There will be mandatory courses on spending on online games and how to find out if a game is rigged strongly towards being a cash drain. The girls in question are forgiven as they were tricked into paying a whole lot of money into a game.**

Inazuma slumped in her seat, letting out a tired groan as she shook out her sore wrist. Even after cleaning up everything finance-related, keeping track of the influx and expenditures of one of the largest military bases on the planet was a lot of work. At least now she could work reasonable hours and take the occasional break.

She'd also spruced up the office. The desk was still cheap, government-issued metal shit, but it was usually covered in so much paperwork you couldn't tell. The chair was now a high-comfort leather affair, the concrete walls had been painted a bright blue and covered with hand-drawn posters contributed by half the destroyers, and a proper lampshade now covered the lone bulb, joining a string of lights ringing the ceiling.

In any case, after a moment staring at said ceiling, Inazuma pulled out her phone and the app store, flicking through it. No... no... cash grab... no... cash grab... Hang on.

"Oh, Strikers 1945!" she said, tapping the download button. Once it finished downloading, she immediately opened it up, went to the character select screen - and found one available, with the rest locked behind payments of coins or gems. "Aw, broccoli. It's a cashgrab game, nanodesu."

Reluctantly, she deleted the app and pulled up another round of Angry Birds.

She was just coming to the end of her ten-minute break when her door swung open, Kasumi and Kagero poking their heads in. Immediately, alarm bells began ringing in her head; both destroyers looked worried and embarrassed, which was an unnatural look on _both_ of them.

"Dare I ask, nanodesu?" she said, putting down her phone.

"We fucked up..." Kagero sighed. Inazuma's eyes crawled for her hairline; forget unnatural, this was some Twilight Zone shit.

"How did you fuck up, nanodesu?" she asked, trepidation coloring her voice.

Kasumi mumbled something unintelligible.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"WESPENT800,000YENONSTRIKERS1945!"

Panting, Kasumi's eyes widened, and Kagero had to restrain her from leaping at the wall and bashing her head against it. Or so Inazuma assumed. She was too busy facepalming to really pay attention.

"Please tell me that's 800,000 yen for both of you combined, nanodesu."

"It's each," Kagero absently replied.

Oh. Great. "Kasumi, calm down, nanodesu," Inazuma said. The other destroyer didn't stop. "I SAID CALM DOWN!" That did it, Kasumi giving her her full attention. "Look, I don't actually blame you guys."

"You don't?!" Kasumi and Kagero said in unison.

"No. I blame predatory, money-grubbing game developers developing 'games' that are really poorly-disguised bits of social engineering designed to take your money, nanodesu."

They stared at her.

"Naka has a lot of things to say about these sorts of games, nanodesu," Inazuma deadpanned. "Anyway, I'll see about getting you an advance on your trusts to cover this. But this is a one-time thing; try to be more judicious about what apps you download from now on, okay?"

Kasumi nodded, Kagero saluting and barking "Yes ma'am!"

~o~

Within the heart of Paris, a building burned. It was, for the most part, an unremarkable office building of the kind that sprouted like weeds in Silicon Valley. It was notable mostly for being the headquarters of Gameloft, one of the largest iOS game makers on the planet.

It was also, currently, on fire. This has been pointed out before, but it bears repeating.

Amazingly, the entire staff that had clocked in at work that day were standing outside in the parking lot, watching the building burn. The only injuries were some burns and smoke inhalation on the idiots that had tried to salvage some of their desk decorations. But many of those watching were outright distraught, watching their place of work go up in flames.

A mile away, Aso put down her binoculars and smiled. A job well done, this. No more would they prey on children and destroyers.

"Hey, Asuna! There you are! C'mon, we should head back to our hotel room, unless there's something you want to see before we do that?"

Smiling even wider, Aso silently turned away and rejoined her friend. She had a city to explore!


	373. Rule 3263

**Rule 3263. Oboro is to stop collecting specimens for her salt water aquarium./Rule 3264. Do not attempt to eat specimens from Oboro's salt water aquarium.  
**  
Amagiri so did not want to deal with this. She was tired, and sweaty, and walking around in her undershirt and shorts. She wanted to take a shower, change into some sweatpants, and just lounge. But Ayanami's worried face promised trouble, probably of the variety best headed off at the pass.

"Yo. What's going on?" she asked as the two approached each other.

Ayanami stopped, shaking her head. "Oboro's gone. And she left this note." She held it out.

Amagiri took it and read it over, her glasses slipping off her nose. "She's looking for new crabs..." The destroyer gulped, trying to get rid of the sudden lump in her throat. "In _Australia?!"_ She paused, frowning. "What are the crabs even like in Australia, anyway?"

"Probably vicious and poisonous," Ayanami answered, a bit of quaver in her voice. "We-"

"Have to call up an actual Australian to make sure we're not panicking over nothing," Amagiri firmly stated. "And that can wait until _after_ I take a shower."

~o~

"Crabs, huh?" Adelaide mused over Facetime. "Honestly, as crabs go, ours aren't particularly nasty or big. Now, _eating_ them, on the other hand..."

"They're poisonous," the destroyers deadpanned in unison.

"Not all of 'em, but yeah, we've got a bunch that are just chock full o'that poison that's in the blowfish you guys eat. Now, does she pick these crabs on aesthetic, or something else?"

"Fugu crabs, because of _course..._ " Amagiri groused as Ayanami answered. "Aesthetic, I think?"

"Toxic Reef Crab or Mosaic Crab. I'll bet my hat on it."

Because of course Australia had a crab called a Toxic Reef Crab. Of course. Though if they were fugu crabs, basically, then they were probably safe as long as you didn't eat them.

"Thanks for the information, Adelaide," Ayanami said. "But I think we'll wait for Oboro to come back."

"You sure? I could try and have her intercepted."

"Nah, after the last time someone tried, no one's going to be stupid enough to try and eat one of Oboro's crabs," Amagiri said dismissively.

~o~

Oboro made it back to Yokosuka a week later, crab in tow (both Amagiri and Ayanami heaved sighs of relief at the distinctive pattern of a Mosaic Crab), and safely parked the creature in her special saltwater tank. Unfortunately, three days prior the latest US-Japan convoy had gotten hit, and the Abyssals had slipped past the escort and actually bagged some merchant ships. Merchant ships stuffed full of food.

The effects were immediate and bad. Food prices skyrocketed throughout Japan, and already tight belts were forced to tighten further until the next convoy, expanded, could come through. The belt-tightening even extended to Yokosuka, boosted by many a shipgirl willingly eating less. For the country.

Of course, such a thing could always be taken too far. And in this case, it was Taiho who overdid it (Kaga would usually be the culprit, but Akagi and Zuikaku had tag-teamed her). So, five days after the convoy was hit saw the fleet carrier stagger aimlessly through the base, hunger clouding her mind and weakening her balance.

Naturally, she stumbled into a hole.

Finding herself underwater did wonders at clearing her mind, and she frantically kicked for the surface, breaching and gasping for air.

"Who left a hole to the ocean in the base?!" she demanded, before actually getting a good look in the water she was floating in. It quickly became clear that she was not in the ocean. The ocean didn't have glass walls. "Who doesn't close off their saltwater tank?!"

Further searching identified who the tank belonged to. After all, no other shipgirls were as interested in crabs as Oboro. Her stomach growled. Saliva pooled in her mouth. Crabs. _Food._ Food that would not be able to just swim away from her. Sucking in a deep breath, she dove. That one crab with the lovely pattern would do for a start.


	374. Rule 3266

**Rule 3266. Any destroyers that were born after the Fubuki-class is to stop calling Fubuki any variation of "mother" in public.**

Fubuki staggered off of the chartered plane she'd flown in on and onto the jetbridge into San Diego International. "I hate flying..." she muttered to herself, absently trying to flatten a rumple in her JMSDF officer's uniform.

Thankfully, her brain and stomach had rebooted to more natural levels by the time she stepped into the terminal, which was the only reason she didn't hurl her complementary pretzels all over the floor when something hard and round slammed into her stomach.

"Welcome to San Diego, mom!" the round thing declared in a feminine voice.

Still fighting the urge to spew all over the round thing, Fubuki shakily glanced down at what had hit her, revealing a long, childish body and smooth brown hair. Destroyer shipgirl, her mind immediately supplied, and a big one, almost as big as the Mogador sisters. Glancing up, she took in Nicholas facepalming - and a large crowd of people with cell phones out and up and recording. Hmm. That could be a problem. But for now...

"Um, thanks, whoever you are," she said, reaching down to stroke the girl's hair.

That provoked a reaction. The girl froze, and then abruptly jumped back, her face red and her gaze going anywhere but towards Fubuki. "I-I'm Turner Joy, I'm new," she stammered. "I'm so s-sorry about the tackle-hug but I really wanted to meet you and, uh..." Steam whistling out of her ears, Turner Joy glanced down in embarrassment.

"Let's just get to the staff car," Nicholas groaned. "Before this gets any more out of hand. The baggage handlers should have dropped off your luggage by the time we get there."

"Lead the way," Fubuki answered, making a mental note to alert Admiral Holloway about the potential public relations eruption.

~o~

 _'I really should stop underestimating the Internet,'_ was the incongruous thought that flitted through Fubuki's mind as Admiral Holloway tried to stare her down. Still. Good as Holloway's disapproving stare was, it had nothing on the CPO she'd had to work with early in her training.

Slowly, Holloway's gaze slid off of Fubuki and onto Turner Joy, who immediately began squirming in her seat. It shifted again, this time to Nicholas, who just looked resigned to the whole thing. Then back to Fubuki.

"So," he bit out. "Anyone want to tell me what happened in between Fubuki landing and arriving here that prompted _twenty-three angry phone calls_ to Wright's desk? _Nine_ of which she saw fit to pass on to my desk?" As if on cue, the phone rang. "Ten. One moment."

Taking the moment for a resigned sigh, Holloway picked up the receiver. "Admiral Holloway, United States Navy. ... I'm sorry, the _what?_... Never heard of you. ... Yes, yes, I'm sure you're very influential in whatever state it is you operate in. Look, I'm a busy man, what is this call about? ... Wait, what?" Curious, Fubuki leaned in a little closer as Admiral Holloway's face went through a veritable mosaic of emotions, from confusion to consternation to disgust to expressions unidentifiable. "Ma'am- ... Miss Hill, apologies, Miss Hill, Fubuki is not the second coming of the Virgin Mary." Wait, what?! "Yes, we're quite sure of that. ... Very sure. ... Miss Hill, the means by which we determined this are classified as a matter of national security, I'm not- ... I don't care what the Bible says about rendering unto Caesar. Take it up with the Supreme Court if you feel this strongly about things. Goodbye."

The receiver didn't break when it was slammed back into its stand, but it was a close-run thing.

"See what I have to deal with?" he snapped. "Answers. Now."

"I just called Fubuki mom in public. Is that so wrong?" Turner Joy whined.

Holloway turned an interesting shade of purple, and Fubuki decided to take pity on the poor man.

"Turner Joy, how good of a grasp do you have on human ages?" she queried.

"Um, pretty good?"

"Okay. How old do _I_ look?"

"Thirteen? Maybe twelve."

One eyebrow twitched. _'She's going by American standards, she's going by American standards, she's going by American standards...'  
_  
"And how many mothers do you think have children at age thirteen? Let alone children who look older than their mother?"

Turner Joy opened her mouth, closed it, frowned. Her eyes widened, she opened her mouth again, then closed it again.

"That's stupid!" she finally shouted. "Don't they know how shipgirls work? This isn't weird at all!"

"Meet J.Q. Public," Nicholas groused. "All most of them care is 'Abyssals bad, shipgirls good, make funny Youtube videos'. So let's _not_ call Fubuki mom in public, okay?"

The phone rang again.

"May I?" Fubuki offered.

"Please," Holloway gasped pathetically.


	375. Rule 3268

**Rule 3268: If Pola offers you a drink, politely refuse: whatever she drinks, it's strong enough to be used as paint thinner and the carriers (plus the Wos) use it as fuel for their planes.**

Roma stared at the... thing in front of them. It was the only real way to describe the writhing mass of purple and black... whatever it was Abyssals were made of. Her shells hadn't done much to it; neither had destroyer torpedoes, nor Aquila loading up her torpedo bombers with 2000-lb bombs. It just kept multiplying and growing and turning ever more grotesque. At least her fellow battleships were keeping the damn thing contained.

"I need a fucking drink..." Roma groaned, slumping over.

"Well, if you're asking..."

Straightening, Roma eyed Pola, who was visibly tipsy and holding out a bottle. A familiar bottle with no label and- The battleship reeled, the fumes making her eyes water. _Now_ she remembered why the bottle was familiar; it was the ones the cruiser had handed off to Aquila to supplement her avgas stores.

"I'll pass, thank you," Roma replied in a strangled voice.

"Y'sure?" Pola asked, before her eyes narrowed. "Oh, I know that expression. C'mon, it's not gonna kill ya!"

Raising one eyebrow, Roma pointedly turned her head to Aquila, where several of her fairies were lugging one of Pola's bottles up to her fighters.

"That still won't kill you! Okay, you'll probably not be able to feel your face. Or fingers. Or-"

"Just... stop," Roma interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look. I'll break out the cheap wine when I get back. In the meantime, we need to figure out how we're going to-" The battleship froze, and slowly, she removed her hand from her face, a wide grin splitting it in two. "Pola. How much of that stuff do you have?"

Grinning right back, Pola swung out her aft rigging, a clinking sound ringing out.

"Excellent. Here's what we're going to do."

~o~

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph what is Pola doing _now?"  
_  
Groaning in frustration, Gorizia and Zara followed Fiume's gaze. What they saw provided little clarity: Pola zipping around the Abyssal they were fighting at twenty-eight knots, Vittorio Veneto, Littorio, and Roma trailing behind her shooting up the beast, and a bottle of alcohol in hand being poured onto the Abyssal. As they watched, the bottle emptied, and Pola tossed it aside before zipping around a desultory attack and pulling out a new bottle.

"... What in the world," Gorizia droned.

"You tell me," Fiume replied, throwing up her hands.

Bereft of any better ideas, the cruisers settled back to watch Pola make another pass around the Abyssal. Finally, she came to a halt, and Alfredo Oriani, of all ships, steamed up and fired her 120mm starshell gun at the beast.

Immediately, the entire thing lit up in flames, the beast letting out a keening wail that pierced straight to the brain and sent the remaining Zara sisters - and, for that matter, the entire fleet - to their knees, futilely covering their ears. Finally, it stopped, and everyone stood up to find the Abyssal they'd been fighting dead. Of course, that left one last question.

"What is _in_ the stuff Pola drinks?!" Zara demanded.


	376. Rule 3270

**Rule 3270. USN destroyers, please stop teaching other navies' destroyers that when they get the carriers' fairies, they should ransomed them for ice cream. We have enough for everyone.**

It was not often that other European carriers - Aquila, Sparviero, Graf Zeppelin, and Bearn - got together. It was also not often that they left their posts with their respective navies. After all, their navies didn't have a dozen+ carriers to throw at the problem like Britain, Japan, or the US. But the situation was bad enough that yes, this was merited.

Which is why the quartet found themselves in Alexandria, genuflecting at Indomitable's feet.

"Please!" Aquila pleaded. "Tell us how to get our fairies back!"

"Some stupid American told them about the whole 'ice cream for downed pilots' thing, and now they won't give them back!" Bearn elaborated.

Graf Zeppelin was not genuflecting. Graf Zeppelin was standing, and she was _pissed_.

"THE LITTLE RUGRATS ALREADY GET A DAMN ICE CREAM RATION, WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT?!"

"Alright, alright, indoor voices, okay?" Indomitable cut in. Thankfully, Graf shut up. "Right. So, you've got three options. You can do this the American way, the Japanese way, or the British way."

For no apparent reason, a pit developed in the stomachs of each of the foreign carriers. "And... what are those ways?" Sparviero prompted.

"Well, the American way goes something like this..."

~o~

 _USS Carpenter fought down the urge to cackle, looking over her collection of pilot fairies. Oh, San Diego was_ definitely _a better posting than Norfolk, if she could collect this many! So many, in fact, that she was forgoing the usual process and simply holding the fairies hostage in hopes of getting more ice cream. And all butter pecan. None of this vanilla crap!_

 _Such a pity that the United States, as a rule, did not negotiate with kidnappers._

 _*CRUNCH!*_

 _"What the-?" was as far as Carpenter got before the sound of thumping boots drowned it out - followed shortly by the roof caving inward under several fast-ropes. Oh, and a vase getting smashed. Before Carpenter could do more than gape in slack-jawed shock, cutters swarmed in from both entrances to the living room, where she was, brandishing their guns and decked out in full SWAT gear._

 _"Wait, we can talk about- HOORF!"_

 _Her brief plea fell on deaf ears in favor of the cutters dogpiling her boots-first and zip-tying her._

~o~

The Euro carriers were looking decidedly put-out when Indomitable finished her description. "Okay, I think I speak for all of us when we say we'd rather not do that," Graf managed to get out. "How do the Japanese handle it?"

~o~

 _"What do we want?" Hanazuki demanded of eight of her eleven sisters._

 _"Ice cream!" they roared in response._

 _"How much do we want?"_

 _"All of it!"_

 _"When do we want it?"_

 _"Now!"_

 _Hanazuki nodded. "Good work, everyone! Now, positions! We must be on our guard for attempts to retrieve our bargaining chip!"_

 _The destroyers quickly gathered themselves into a circle surrounding a few dozen annoyed pilot fairies sitting in the middle of the room. This was the key: the Americans had oh-so-helpfully informed them of this bit of leverage, that the retrieved fairies could be bargained for ice cream. As such, they had to be protected until negotiations completed. A pity none of them ever thought to look_ up.

 _Hanazuki began to pace in front of her older sisters. "That they will is a given! We all know the influence America has had upon our country; that nation does not negotiate, and so neither will ours!" Unnoticed, the orange-clad form of Sendai slowly eased down from the ceiling, grabbed a pair of fairies, and then shot up. "They will bring force! They will attempt subterfuge! And they will not succeed!" Silently, Sendai grabbed another pair of fairies, several of Kaga's taking the opportunity to jump up and grab onto her sleeves! "Because constant! Vigilance!"_

 _With that, Hanazuki went silent, eyeing the door - while Sendai made another pass for the fairies._

 _Time passed. Agonizing time, time spent waiting, waiting and anticipating a confrontation that never came. In minutes, her sisters were fidgeting. And then, Fuyutsuki happened to look behind her._

 _"Hey! The fairies are gone!"_

 _"What?!"_

~o~

"Hey, Graf, think you could persuade a few U-boats to give that a try?" Bearn queried.

"We'll call that plan B."

~o~

 _"Do you ever wonder why we're here?" HMS Ceres groused._

 _'Here' was a second-story room in a house across the street from another house that housed a few British destroyers and a lot of British pilot fairies. Beside Ceres, Calypso knelt in front of the window, binoculars in hand and trained on the house across the street._

 _"It's one of life's great mysteries, isn't it," she idly replied. "Why_ are _we here? I mean, are we the product of... some cosmic coincidence or, is there really a God... watching everything. You know, with a plan for us and stuff. I don't know, but it keeps me up at night."_

 _Slowly, Ceres turned to look at her partner, a bewildered look on her face. "No, I meant why are_ we _here, specifically, doing surveillance duty in Middle of Nowhere, coastal Scotland? Are you okay?"_

 _"I'm fine. And to answer your question-"_

 _"No, don't change the subject. What was all that stuff about God?"_

 _"... Nothing."_

 _"You wanna talk about it?"_

 _"No, I don't wanna bloody talk about it."_

 _"Okay. Just asking." A beat. "Anyway, you were saying...?"_

 _"Oh! Right. It's 'cause we're obsolete and bored."_

 _"Fucking Admiralty, I swear to God. If it's not one thing it's another. 'Aww, I can't fit any more speed in my battlecruiser. Or can I...?' 'Ohhhhh, let's build super-fast shallow-draft vessels for the Baltic with derpguns and nothing else.' 'Y'know what would be a capital idea? Using fleet carriers for submarine sweeps!' 'Our best trainer for the new carriers is the masochist battleship; there's no way that'll backfire!' Bloody morons. Graham and Collingwood excepted, they know what they're doing."_

 _Calypso nodded sagely, then stiffened. "They're moving."_

 _Suddenly all business, Ceres stepped up to the window. "How many?"_

 _"All three. Looks like... yup, tea run."_

 _"I'll tell Southampton. Let me know when they're out of sight, then we can move in."_

~o~

The Euro quartet digested that. "Y'know, I like the British idea," Aquila decided.

"We do have a few convalescing U-boats we could use for surveillance duty..." Graf mused. "Thanks, Indomitable."

"No problem!"


	377. Rule 3289

**Rule 3289. No! Shipgirls are NOT zombies! Whoever is spreading this rumor, please stop; you're scaring the local children!/Rule 3290. And definitely no! Being bitten by a shipgirl will not transform you into a shipgirl! You may lose that part of your body, however.**

It all started with Göteborg _._ In hindsight, she had been an excellent candidate to come out... strange. She'd spontaneously blown in 1941 and had been sunk as a target at the end of her life. But this had been before Newark's summoning, before Aso's own problems had gotten out of Japan. Besides, she was harmless, if slow-witted and incapable of saying anything other than "börk".

Then she bit Gotland.

The effect was immediate. Gotland, screaming, morphed into an exact copy of Göteborg. One exchange of "börk?" and "börk." later, and the two moved on to the rest of the Swedish shipgirl fleet. And then... the _people._

The only warning the rest of the world got was when a whole Sweden's worth of Göteborg clones swarmed south from Scania - right into the majority of the German surface fleet. The results were eminently predictable, the shipgirls assimilated without making much of a dent in the horde. Panic gripped Europe, politicians paralyzed between trying to fight off the horde and simply packing as many people up and fleeing. In the event, it was the remaining shipgirls who decided the matter, bottlenecking Göteborgs in Denmark to buy time for evacuations and prepared defenses in the Alps and Rhine.

None noticed a few thousand Göteborgs crossing the Atlantic for North America.

~o~

Noriko Kamata put down the printout she'd been reading and sighed explosively, pinching the bridge of her nose. Of all the things-!

"So? So?" came the eager voice of her cousin Isono. "Whaddya think?"

"That's not how anything works!" Noriko snapped, throwing up her hands. "Shipgirls are not zombies! And they don't turn normal people into shipgirls by biting!"

A familiar expression of stubbornness spread over Isono's face. "And how do you know that, huh?"

"Because if that was the case, I'd have been turned into a shipgirl months ago!"

It was only when she finished speaking the sentence when the implications of what she'd just said hit Noriko. She didn't blush - months of dating Iku had cured her of that - but it was a close-run thing, because this wasn't Iku, or anyone at Yokosuka who knew the sordid details of their relationship. No, it was her fifteen-year-old cousin who she hadn't even shared her sexual orientation with.

That Isono's face was twisting in disgust didn't help.

"Oh. You're one of _those_ people," she said in a tone usually reserved for describing pond scum, toe jam, and that last bit of grit in the corner of the floor you couldn't get.

"What does that mea- no. No, forget it. That's not important. What _is_ important is that you need to publicly retract that piece."

Isono petulantly crossed her arms. "Oh, really?"

Wordlessly, Noriko unmuted the TV. _"- extends into its third day. The reasons given for staying home from school remain consistent: fear that shipgirls will bite them and turn them into zombies. With gentle persuasion and hard punishment both failing to coax their children out of their rooms, parents have organized a protest outside of Yokosuka Naval-"  
_  
Isono stared, open-mouthed. "Oh."

"And that's just Yokosuka," Noriko pointed out. "Kure and Sasebo have the same problem, and the only reason no one's picketing Maizuru is because we don't _have_ any shipgirls there."

Mouth clicked shut, Isono frowned in thought for a long minute. "Fine," she finally said. "I'll do it. _If_ you let me do a quick photoshoot with a shipgirl."

"Fine," Noriko replied, trying to inject as much reluctance into her voice as possible. After all, after those earlier comments she knew _just_ the shipgirl to introduce her cousin to...

~o~

The door slammed open, and Noriko glanced up from her phone to see Isono standing in the door, staring at her wide-eyed and white-faced. "You... You _deviant!"_ she shrieked, before sprinting the other way.

Iku ambled out a moment later, a disappointed look on her face. "Your cousin's kinda boring, Nori."

It was too much. Noriko snorted, then collapsed onto the floor, laughing her head off.


	378. Rule 3299

**3299\. Warning to all shipgirls and shipboys: If you encounter the spirit of a ship that has been isolated from outside society for a considerable number of years in the same manner as those Imperial Japanese "holdouts" from World War Two showed, please do not attempt to bring said spirit back by yourselves!**  
 **  
AN: Today's snippet brought to you by the words "plagiarism" and "self".  
**  
Consciousness returned to HMCS Canada very slowly. Slowly enough that she had plenty of time to catalogue the sensations she was feeling. She was nude, soaking in water, practically starving, and most importantly, almost pain free. That last was like a bucket of ice water when her half-awake brain finished processing it, and her eyes darted open to find a couple of her fairies standing on her chest in hard hats.

"Report," she whispered, eyes darting about. The room was... Japanese. Very Japanese. The style of tiling and woodwork was distinctive and drilled into her head by some of her ex-Japanese crewmembers. Which was... not good. Not good at all.

"Ze! Zezeze ze!"

She frowned. "I'm _repaired?_ Why would they repair me?" Images of dead bodies flashed through her mind, followed shortly by a battle account, and her confused frown hardened into a determined scowl. "Right. Okay, everyone prepare for exfiltration. The _hard_ way."

"Ze!" the fairies barked, saluting and then disappearing into her.

Canada stood, water sluicing off of her. A quick glance around confirmed that her rigging was gone - of course, that would've been too easy - but that her clothes were neatly folded in a set of cubbies. Further inspection showed they had been repaired, which fit with one of her theories but not the other. Not that said theory was all that much better for her continued sanity and well-being. Regardless, she dressed, and had just finished when the door opened and a shipgirl with pink hair walked in. A repair ship, by the looks of things.

"Oh! You're awake!" she said, surprised. "And... standing. You shouldn't be standing yet."

And it was that piece of information that settled things for Canada. She darted forward, grabbing the repair ship by the arm and yanking her close, one arm looping around her neck. The repair ship opened her mouth to scream-

"Keep quiet, and I might be persuaded to not snap your neck," Canada whispered.

And then closed it, settling for a baleful glare up at the battlecruiser.

"Good girl. Now, who's outside?"

A pause, then an answer. "Captain Yamashita of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force and Captain Hackett of the Royal Canadian Navy."

Human officers, then. Perfect. Even if the term "self-defense force" drew a derisive snort from Canada. Self-defense, what a crock. That begged the question of what a Canadian officer was doing here, but that could wait. Wouldn't be the first time the Canadian military had been bullied into supporting one of America's pet warlords.

"Alright, walk. Slowly."

Still glaring, the repair ship slowly walked towards the door, Canada matching her pace. Rather than have the repair ship open it, or free one of her hands for the task, the battlecruiser simply went the expedient way and kicked it down.

"What in the-"

The Canadian officer was generic and too poleaxed to do anything, so Canada mentally dismissed him. Instead, she eyed the Japanese officer, a young woman who was pointedly _not_ poleaxed and seemed to be trying to incinerate her with her eyes. Actually, she looked _really_ young. Unnaturally young, if she was a captain, even for an Oriental.

Hold the phone.

"Canada. Let Akashi go," the _shipgirl officer_ practically snarled.

"Or what?" Canada sneered. "As you may have noticed, I currently hold the life of your only repair ship in my hands. I see any hint of rigging..." She clicked her tongue. "Snap!"

The destroyer - had to be, with that apparent age - didn't flinch. "What do you want, then."

"Well, for starters, I want my rigging. Then, I want you to call your American puppetmasters and have them send a ship to get me out of here. Do all that, and maybe I won't snap this woman's neck and shell wherever we are as I leave."

The destroyer's lip twitched, and for a moment, Canada thought that she'd won, that it was a moment of weakness to exploit. Then that twitch morphed into a full-blown _smile,_ followed by a chuckle, and then the shipgirl descending into full-blown bell laughter, clutching her gut, her uniform hat flopping onto the floor.

Needless to say, this was _not_ the reaction Canada had been going for.

"Oi!" she snapped, a little desperately. "What are you laughing at? I have a hostage, I'm in control!"

A derisive snort ripped out of Akashi's nose. "In control? You wish," she said, eyeing the battlecruiser. "Besides, how am I a hostage? Here on land, a broken neck is plenty survivable for me."

Canada's eyes widened-

THWACK!

At which point a boot sole, joined by a crack of displaced air, smacked into her face and sent her skidding down the hall. Planting her hands, Canada flipped back and onto her feet and glared at her assailant, the same brown-haired battleship she vaguely recalled had tried to talk her down when she'd gotten captured.

"Stand down, Dess, or I'll be forced to get serious!" the battleship shouted in surprisingly good English.

Canada didn't answer, instead running through her options. Without her rigging, a battleship was well out of her league, and she had no idea _where_ said rigging was. She had speed, though, and one unarmed destroyer wasn't much of a threat. So, she turned around and bolted.

CRACK!

"Hey, don't run away, we haven't even traded names yet!"

Wide-eyed, the battlecruiser skidded to a halt. The Japanese battleship was now _right in front of her,_ somehow. And babbling nonsense, but that wasn't important. So, if running was out, and she had no rigging...

 _'Ugh. I hate having to do this.'  
_  
Reaching up, Canada manifested her mask and pulled it down over her face.

~o~

When the oppressive weight of _power_ settled over her like a thick blanket, Fubuki made her decision. This was getting _entirely_ out of hand, and the time for proportionality was over.

"Akashi, head to the repair docks and stand by for injured shipgirls," she ordered. Akashi nodded and jogged off. "Captain, alert the rest of the base." Nodding shakily, the Canadian officer _sprinted_ away.

Bending over, she retrieved her hat, gave it a pat to dust it off. Then onto the windowsill it went. She cracked her knuckles, stretched her neck, and manifested her rigging, the weight like an old friend after the long absence of it.

"If you're dead, Kongo, I'm going to kill you," she growled.

Thankfully, Kongo was not dead. The problem was that this fact was communicated to Fubuki by the battleship getting thrown through the wall. Jumping through the glass window, Fubuki landed hard on the lawn and opened fire as Canada's black-wreathed, black-masked form followed out the hole.

The battlecruiser immediately turned, swayed, and practically _oozed_ around the shells. Belatedly, Fubuki realized its gaze was on _her_ now.

 _'Okay, that's just not fair.'_

~o~

Admiral Goto sighed explosively and pulled back a slug of whiskey. As the burn of the alcohol settled into his stomach, Inazuma zipped back into his office, her voice apologetic.

"Sorry, Admiral, but I couldn't find her, nanodesu."

"It's fine, Inazuma," he sighed. "How is everyone?"

Inazuma grimaced. "Well, Kongo's in traction, Fubuki's not much better, Fuso's missing an arm which means Yamashiro's fussing over her, and Ashigara and Kasagi are still unconscious, nanodesu," she listed off. "So, now we've got _another_ crazy and crazy powerful shipgirl wandering the sealanes. Just _peachy,_ nanodesu."

"Why do you think I'm drinking?" Goto pointed out.

Inazuma had no answer for that. Well, no answer other than to grab the bottle and take a sip - before immediately spitting it all out.

"Ugh! How do you _drink_ this stuff, nanodesu?"

Admiral Goto chuckled, his mood lifting a little. Yes, it had been a bad day. But every cloud had a silver lining.

"Uh, Admiral?" he heard Aoba tentatively say. "I think I might have just fucked up..."

Then again, so too did every silver lining have its cloud.

~o~

Aso stuffed her bedroll into her travel pack with perhaps a _bit_ more force than was necessary. And why shouldn't she? She was fucking _pissed._ She'd read the news from Yokosuka, same as everyone else. But where everyone else just shook their heads and wrote it off as "just another Yokosuka thing", she knew better. The articles she'd found included enough snippets from this "Canada" to get a rough idea of her attitude, and it chilled her to the bone. The battlecruiser hated Japan. _Hated_ it, down to her core, in a way that even Enterprise had never managed. Enterprise, after all, had gotten her pound of flesh back in the war and mostly just wanted to be _done_ with everything. (Who knew those surveillance missions to the joint Yamaprise household would actually be _useful_ beyond Yoshino's kidnapping?) At a guess, this shipgirl had gotten neither. And Aso was still, at her core, a Japanese patriot. Just... moderated.

Granted, ending her steel-hull days as a suicide test target still hurt like the dickens, but better than burying that hurt under denial and rationalizations.

"Asuna!"

Flinching and yelping, Aso fumbled the tentpole and watched as the whole thing collapsed into a boneless - and pain in the ass to fix - heap. Turning around, she shouted, just a little, "Algerie! What are you doing here?" A pause, and then- "And we already said goodbye, so it can't be _that."  
_  
Algerie's mouth scrunched up and her eyes shifted off of Aso.

"Really, Algerie," Aso deadpanned.

"S-Shut up!" the cruiser stammered, reaching into her pocket. "Besides, I _am_ here for something else!"

A cardboard box came out, and Aso took it, her eyes widening and drool pooling in her mouth. "Is this..." she breathed.

"100% gen-u-ine Swiss chocolate," the cruiser answered, grinning. "Try not to eat it all at once, okay?"

"T-That was one time!" Aso stammered, blushing. "Thanks, Algerie. I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

"It's cool. You gotta leave, you gotta leave. Where do you think you'll go next?"

"I'll head east for now, see where that takes me."

The two shipgirls, one known and one not, stood in that forest clearing for a moment longer before wrapping each other up in a hug.

"I'm gonna miss you."

"Dummy, I have a phone now and a pedal charger. We'll keep in touch."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

~o~

Canada slumped on the water, panting, her mask slowly receding. Every time, it left more and more slowly. Worse, she'd seen an American shipgirl in that Japanese base, trying to stop her, and far more Japanese shipgirls than any one warlord could support. The conclusion was as obvious as it was disheartening: Japan was back, united, and now the US was backing it instead of just pointedly ignoring it in favor of the Germans. And considering the reach of American influence...

"Very well," Canada ground out as she hauled herself to her feet. "If the world chooses to fight me, then I will fight like I always have."

Now, supplies. Should be plenty of coastal traffic to loot...


	379. Rule 3307

**Rule 3307. Agano, Naka, and Light Cruiser Oni from the Allied Abyssal Fleet are not allowed to be in the same room together unsupervised.**

[So, remind me why we're going to Japan?] Ayase asked, shivering. Why the hell did she feel like someone was dancing the macarena on her grave? And why did that feeling get stronger the closer they got to Japan?

"Because Japan has too many carriers and not enough cruisers and we're here to fill the gaps for a bit," Chicago jumped in, annoyance written all over her features, before Chester could reply. "We've explained this _how many_ times?"

"Seven," Northampton supplied.

"Right, seven. So kindly _shut up_ about it!"

[Rude,] muttered Ayase. Still, she couldn't help but rub at her arms.

This did not go unnoticed by her friend. "You alright?" Chester asked.

[I feel like someone's dancing the-] Ayase blinked. [Okay, never mind, now it's just a general feeling of impending doom.]

Chester frowned and pursed her lips. "Well, that's weird." Then she brightened up again. "Oh well, no use worrying about it until it happens! Onward!"

"Chester, for the love of God, shut up!"

~o~

By the time the small task force nosed into Yokosuka harbor, Ayase was inches away from either vomiting or killing somebody. Or both. She could dimly hear Northampton talking with a Japanese cruiser, but was more focused on holding herself together. However, when _that voice_ spoke...

 **[You.]  
**  
"Oh, bugger me sideways."

Ignoring Chester's comment, Ayase stomped up onto the pier, her gaze locked onto the two Japanese shipgirls on the dock. One wore an idol-inspired dress and had her brown hair in two buns; the other was taller, with long, loose black hair. Oh, and both were giving just as good as they were getting.

"... Noshiro, have you ever seen Agano this serious?"

"No. I'm scared, Ashigara."

"Somehow, I think fear is the appropriate result."

Step by step, Ayase stomped towards the two cruisers, fists clenched at her sides. When she was about a foot away, she stopped, and the trio eyed each other for a long moment.

Then Naka's fist crashed into her nose with all the force of a speeding locomotive. It was a testament to her Abyssal heritage that the blow only snapped Ayase's head back. Slowly, she brought it back down. She reached up, and wiped away the small trickle of blood that flowed, eyeing the stain on her fingers.

[Not bad,] she said, grinning. [And here I thought this would be- HOORF!]

Noshiro followed up the foot she'd buried in Ayase's gut with an overhead smash punch that nailed the Abyssal square on the temple. Naka nailing her on the right cheek a second later was just salt in the wound.

So Ayase grabbed their heads and slammed them together, then laid into them while they were reeling.

Back towards the water, Noshiro, Chester, Northampton, and Chicago had finally finished picking their jaws up off the floor. All four were in agreement that this fight needed to be stopped. The only question was _how.  
_  
Neither noticed Ashigara step back with her phone up to her ear.

"Look, it's simple," Chicago asserted, despite wincing when Agano grabbed Ayase in a chokeslam. "We go in, grab them, and break them up. Agano and Naka are, what, 6000 tons? 5000?"

"6600 and 5500, respectively," Noshiro reflexively rattled off. Then she smirked. "Tell me, how big was Kako? Or the G4M?"

"You-"

The reply was promptly cut off by Ayase headbutting Naka with a sound much akin to a ringing church bell. For some reason, this also prompted a guitar riff, one familiar to any AC/DC fan.

"Chicago, knock it off," Northampton cut in. "And Noshiro, please don't antagonize her. Chester, any chance of you talking down Ayase?"

Chester glanced at the fight, took one look at Ayase's expression, and audibly gulped. "Yeah, no, I like having all my limbs. Remember the first encounter with the airship girls?"

Chicago and Northampton considered this, went back to the fight, where Ayase was using Naka as a bludgeon against Agano, and then nodded sagely.

"Well, we've got to do _something,"_ Noshiro pointed out.

"Yeah, this is just embarrassing everybody," Chester agreed, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head.

Back to the fight, Ayase ducked, prompting Naka and Agano to punch each other.

 _"Really_ embarrassing."

Scoffing, Chicago turned away, blinked, and turned back. "Uh, Ashigara's coming this way with that super-flat light carrier of yours."

"Ryujo."

"Yeah, her."

As the two approached, Ashigara slowed down while Ryujo sprinted for the ongoing melee. "We've got a plan, just wait!" the heavy cruiser declared, cutting off any potential objections.

The audience, then, could only watch as Ryujo jumped in with... paper charms? Yes, paper charms in her hands. What happened next was obscured by the fight, but when the dust cleared, Agano, Naka, and Ayase were standing still, blinking stupidly at the charms on their foreheads, and Ryujo was nursing an impressive shiner.

"You girls hit like trains, jeez," the carrier groused. She turned to the onlooking cruisers, and jabbed a finger their direction. "You lot! Make yourselves useful and separate these two! Otherwise the protection'll fail and we're back to square one!"

"Yes ma'am!"

"And don't call me ma'am!"

~o~

Goto eyed Ayase, ensconced behind two-way glass clear on the other side of the base from Naka and Agano. Now, she looked normal. Well. Normal for an Allied Abyssal. And excepting the paper charm still attached to her forehead. "So," he very calmly stated. "What caused this?"

"Some sort of mystic resonance," Ryujo replied, shrugging when Goto gave her a questioning look. "Sorry, Admiral, I mostly know how to seal and attack shit. This is high-level mystic bullshit that I don't know."

"Great," Goto muttered. "But if they're sufficiently separated..."

"Then the charms'll hold up just fine," Ryujo confirmed. "So, yeah, should be mission-safe as long as they're not in the same fleet." She glanced into Ayase's room and grimaced. "Also? I don't think we're gonna be able to keep her in there much longer."

Goto glanced in and found Ayase poking an ever-larger hole in the concrete wall.

"Good point."


	380. Rule 3314

**Rule 3314. When undertaking a road trip, please make sure to have the capability to summon help in an emergency.  
**  
In the main lounge of Yokosuka's cruiser dorm, three of the four Takao sisters relaxed, reading or playing games in a rare moment of peace.

That peace was promptly shattered by Maya throwing open the door. "Sisters!" she declared, thrusting her hand out. "I have done it! Four tickets to Seydlitz and the Derfflingers' American tour!"

Catlike grins sprouted on the three cruisers, and they shot to their feet and snatched the ticket's from Maya's hand. Unfortunately, it took only one look to identify a serious problem.

"Sister..." Takao said slowly. "These are for Madison Square Garden. In _New York."  
_  
Maya's triumphant expression promptly crumbled into rueful sheepishness. "Yeah, turns out they don't start touring West Coast until next year..."

"How are we going to get enough leave to go to New York? That adds three days to the trip in flight time and time zone recovery!"

"Actually, with those American cruisers being integrated, it should take a few weeks before the Combined Fleet is ready for large-scale operations again," Chokai interjected. "Getting leave shouldn't be a problem. The tricky part is the flight. It'd have to be a two-leg flight, and-"

"Why don't we do a road trip?" Atago offered, her usual sunny smile in place. "Fly in to San Francisco and then drive to New York!"

Her sisters fell silent, thinking it over. "It would be cheaper," Maya noted. "Heck, it's cheap enough we probably won't have to beg Inazuma for cash."

At once, all four shuddered.

"It would add considerable time to our trip, however," Chokai pointed out. "Off the top of my head, I'd say that driving cross-country would take at least four days each way. Less if we make frequent stops."

"Yeah, but it'll be fun!" Atago countered.

Chokai's only answer to that was "You're not wrong."

Decision made, the three younger sisters turned to their older, two in eagerness and one in calm anticipation. Faced with such a united front, Takao could only sigh and acquiesce.

"Fine. But we're planning this right. Which means a route ahead of time, and research on any stops we make."

"I vote Highway 50!" Maya immediately demanded.

~o~

"Take Highway 50, you said," Chokai groused from under their rental car. "See South Lake Tahoe and Gold Country and Kings Canyon and Middlegate, you said. We won't run out of fuel, you said."

"Hey, give me _some_ credit," Maya groused, shifting her grip on the car's bodywork a bit. "We didn't run out of gas."

"Kind of an academic point," Takao countered, holding the other side of the car.

The situation was as follows: after picking up a rental at San Francisco International, the cruisers had checked into a hotel to reset their body clocks and set out first thing the next morning. They'd caught US 50 in Sacramento, grabbed lunch in South Lake Tahoe, and set off onto the Loneliest Road in America, with intent to grab a motel in either Ely or Eureka.

Naturally, fifty miles in and as far away from civilization as you could get on the American highway system, the heat gauge had suddenly skyrocketed and white smoke began billowing out from under the car. They had no choice but to pull over and see if they could fix the problem, lest they wreck the engine, which would not only strand them for good, but worse, force them to pay thousands of dollars to get it fixed or replaced.

A grunt sounded out from under the car, and Chokai scooted out and stood. "Alright, bad news. We've got a busted radiator coolant hose. Unless someone has some rubber patching on hand, we're stuck here." No response came. "Thought so." She blinked, glancing around. "Where's Atago?"

Maya jabbed a finger over her shoulder, and Chokai followed the look to see her off in the desert, hoofing it to the top of one of the hills lining the desert.

"Okay... Right, what's the plan?"

"Wait for night and then hoof it to the nearest town?" Takao suggested, tugging at her jacket.

"I don't think you're gonna make it that long," Maya deadpanned, wiping some sweat off her forehead. "Heck, I don't think _I'm_ gonna make it. It is really, really hot out here."

"We'll last even less long walking or, god forbid, running," Chokai retorted.

Movement in their peripheral vision drew their gazes, right back to Atago, who had shed her jacket and was sprinting down the hill. "There's a truck coming!" she shouted once she was in earshot. "And I think I got the driver's attention!"

"Oh thank God," her sisters chorused at once. Then, they set to work retrieving their luggage and the emergency kit and large supply of spare water they'd crammed into the trunk. Everything was placed on the ground, and Atago had rejoined them, when the truck pulled up. The passenger-side window rolled down, showing the very stereotype of a truck driver, what with his mustache, baseball cap, plaid shirt, and visible beer gut.

Also, both he and the truck were slightly translucent.

"Howdy, ladies." He pointedly eyed their broken-down car. "You need some help?"

"Yes. Our car has a busted radiator coolant line," Maya answered. "If you could give us a lift to Ely, that would be much appreciated."

"Hmm." The trucker's gaze shifted from the car back to the four shipgirls, lingering over Takao's exposed upper thighs, a little longer over Chokai and Maya's midriff-baring tops, and the quite pointedly staring at Atago's breasts, only barely contained by her camisole. A friendly smile slowly spread over his face. "Y'know what? I reckon I can do better than that. That's a rental, right? You can stick with me until Salt Lake, get a replacement there. I'll also call AAA to get that hunk of junk off the shoulder."

"Oh, thank you!" Atago chirped, jumping up and down. The trucker's eyes tracked her. Well. A specific part of her.

None of this byplay escaped the rest of Atago's sisters.

"Keep an eye on his hands," Takao whispered.

"Got it," Maya replied with undisguised relish.

"I dunno, I think I'd let him run his hands along my thighs," Chokai replied, before blushing furiously. "I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

The only reply she got were a pair of flat stares.


	381. Chapter 381

**Rule 3320. You are no longer allowed to ride a horse into battle.**

Yamato idly fired another salvo at her chosen target, a Ru-class battleship that was doing more frantic evading than actual firing. And sixteen inches of armor or not, that was exactly how the battleship liked things. In fact, this entire Abyssal task force seemed to have no interest in actually fighting them; the additional two battleships Ise and Hyuga had claimed were putting up more of a fight, but tactically were clearly doing a fighting retreat. And with only four destroyers and no real speed advantage, the Japanese shipgirls weren't in any position to actually stop them. Reinforcements were on the way to fix that, but until then...

"Am advancing," she announced, ceasing fire and angling towards the Abyssal battle line. While her fairies reworked the firing solution, Yamato sighed and wished, not for the first time, that she had one of those fancy American fire-control computers. The ones that didn't force her to redo her firing solution every time she changed course. Sadly, this wasn't like bolting on AA and some additional directors and radar. It was more on the level of a Kai or Kai Ni refit, and so far only Musashi had them. Though there was talk about getting it onto the Kongo sisters soon.

Shellfire shook her out of her thoughts. Chiding herself for getting distracted, Yamato shook her head and checked the solution. Acquired. Smiling, she opened fire again on the enemy battleship. And to her delight, she was rewarded with a couple of hits, the Abyssal staggering under the 18" shells. Range found, more hits soon followed, and in a matter of minutes the Abyssal collapsed into the waves, wailing.

Oddly, the wailing sounded something like [I just wanted some cream puffs!] But that was probably her ears playing tricks on her.

Glancing towards the remaining Abyssals, Yamato sighed. No way she was catching them, and they were at the hairy edge of her effective range anyway.

"Hyuga, ETA on those reinforcements?" she queried into her radio.

 _"Should be here any minute now,"_ came the reply. _"Be advised, the Americans had a submarine in the area. They've vectored her in."  
_  
Yamato nodded. Excellent. Hopefully, the American could cut off the retrea- hold up. Turning her head, Yamato squinted at the blob she'd picked up out the corner of her eye. The finest optics 1930s Japan could produce honed in on the blob, which resolved into an American submarine shipgirl... with reins in hand... riding on the back of what was probably a shark.

"... Okay then."

Another blob caught her eye, and this time when she turned and focused it was Ikazuchi at the head of a small force of destroyers - riding a decidedly put-out Re-class clamping onto the reins in its teeth.

"Is it 'ride a mount into battle' day today or something? What next, a horse?"

Hooves clopping on the water as if it was concrete reached her ears, and Yamato sighed. "I, Yamato, need to learn to keep my mouth shut..."

Turning around, she took in the horse. It was a perfectly normal horse, aside from the fact that it was pure white and, oh yeah, was _standing on water._ Reaching out, Yamato rubbed its nose, drawing a happy snort and shake of the head from the creature.

"Where's your rider?" Yamato wondered, glancing at its back. There was no saddle, but that didn't prove anything. And then suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, there was Enterprise, standing on the horse's back with a glass of what looked like wine but was probably actually grape juice in hand and a _very_ smug grin on her face.

"I'm on a horse."


	382. Rule 3329

**Rule 3329. Waxing by slathering molten metal over your legs was a bad idea, Musashi. I don't care if you're a battleship and normal wax wasn't getting the job done, that was irresponsible and stup-  
**  
A knock at her door jolted Yamato out of a very attentive reading of the latest volume of Skip Beat! Getting up, she opened the door to find Musashi standing there, looking disgruntled.

"Oh, hello sister. Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Musashi grunted, glancing around. "Can I come in? This is really something to talk about in private."

"Of course!"

The two battleships quickly parked themselves on the couch, Yamato waiting expectantly.

"Okay, I have no idea how to ask this delicately, so..." Musashi grimaced. "Have you had the hair removed from your legs, sis?"

Yamato blinked once, twice. Then a third time. "Excuse me?"

"I just... I'm got tired of shaving my legs, so I decided to try waxing." The grimace deepened into an angry frown. "That didn't work. It _really_ didn't work."

For a moment, curiosity overrode bewilderment. "Dare I ask how-?"

"No. No you do not."

An awkward silence descended on the sisters, Yamato staring at her sister and Musashi fidgeting under the scrutiny. Finally, the elder asked the obvious question.

"Why not lasers? I know Akashi's offered that service forever."

Musashi shuddered, suddenly seeming very small. "I don't like lasers. At all."

Another awkward silence. Yamato opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then just left it open for a solid half minute. It was at this moment that Enterprise waddled down the stairs. "Yo, Musashi. What's up?"

Standing abruptly, Musashi all but fled out the front door with barely even an "I need to go.", leaving behind a thoroughly confused carrier.

"Was it something I said?"

~o~

Every so often, Akashi woke up early in a fit of insomnia. When this happened, she usually just headed in early to try and get ahead of the day's workload. So it was the day she checked the forge to find Musashi already in there, ladling molten steel over one bare leg. Akashi froze. Musashi froze. The molten metal hissed. Finally, Musashi spoke.

"Well, this is awkward..."

"Jesus Christ, Musashi!" Akashi yelped, sprinting for her workstand and its asbestos gloves. "Metal?! Molten metal?! I know you battleships are _way_ too confident in your armor, but this is a bit much, don't you think?"

A frown spread on the battleship's face. "Akashi, I'm perfectly-"

"With any luck, you'll still have muscle left on the bone," Akashi plowed on, reaching down and grasping. She gave the metal a hard yank-

"YARGH! Mother _fuck_ , did you have to do it all at once?!"

To reveal smooth skin, unmarred by the molten metal except for a slight red tinge.

"What."

"I told you, I'm fine," Musashi groused, wincing as she rubbed her leg. "Well, looks like that worked."

Suddenly, the whole picture slid into place for Akashi. Much to her incredulity.

"You used molten metal to wax your legs."

"Yup!" Musashi answered, cheerful and grinning. "Now, I just need to get your other leg..."

Akashi opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Musashi was fine, wasn't she? Still, this was using up valuable resources...

"Just let me know next time, okay?" she finally ended up on.

Sadly, neither noticed one of the Yuubaris listening in, else what happened next might have been avoided.

~o~

The next morning, Akashi arrived at her usual time, and opened the door to find a shame-faced Yuubari standing there, fidgeting.

"Okay, so y'know how Musashi used molten steel to wax her legs-?" was as far as she got before Akashi shoved her aside and made a beeline for Yamashiro, lying on an examination bed with one leg dangling and the other encased in solid steel, a pained grimace on her face.

"This is going to hurt," Akashi baldly stated, gripping the metal.

"How badlyyyYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

~o~

Two hundred miles out to sea, a pair of Abyssal submarines were watching maritime traffic heading for Tokyo Bay, only their heads poking above the surface. And then...

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

[D-Do you hear that?]

[I _feel_ that.]

~o~

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Even further out to sea, HMCS Hood cocked her head in confusion.

"What the devil is that noise?"

~o~

Over in Albania, Aso paused and then clutched her head.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"No, stop! I've changed, I really have!"

~o~

Down in Antarctica, the Director, nude but for a towel around her neck, opened the fridge, looking for some yogurt.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"... Huh?"

~o~

Many years into the future, Akemi ran her hand down the side of the machine that was to send her to the past. Even after a week of time to process it and the support of her many friends and family... it still didn't feel real.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"... Yamashiro?"


	383. Rule 3334

**Rule 3334. Coca-Cola boiled with lemon juice and lemon slices is only viable IF you're suffering from a mild cold. Anything more severe merits a visit to the repair ships.  
**  
Afternoons were always the quietest time at Hosho's establishment. At best she'd get a few lonely, frustrated shipgirls looking to drink away whatever stress they had, whether that was work, a lack of men, or any combination of a number of things. Today, though, was especially quiet; all she had was Ryujo, nursing a cheap beer and bitching about her love life.

"Fucking lolicons..." the light carrier groused. Again. She leaned back, sweeping her hands over her body. "I mean, come on! I'm petite, not childish! Right?" Hosho, experienced in this sort of thing, simply nodded. "Right. So I don't know why every damn guy who shows any kind of interest is some sort of creepy lolicon. It's ridiculous. It's disgusting. I dunno, give me another beer."

Hosho went to retrieve another beer, but the door opened and diverted her. Especially when Kasumi walked in, a put-upon expression on her face.

"Ah, Kasumi. What brings you here?" Hosho asked.

A sigh. "Y'know that saying about how fools can't catch colds?"

Ryujo and Hosho exchanged knowing looks. It wasn't hard to see where _this_ was going. "Yeah?" Ryujo prompted.

"Well, it's clearly baloney, because Kagero's down with a cold," the destroyer responded. "Shiranui sent me to get some of that Coke and lemon juice concoction you make for colds."

"Oh, of course I can make it!" Hosho cheerily replied, bustling back into the kitchen. "I can also heat up some chicken soup, just give me five minutes!"

True to her word, seven minutes later Hosho, Kasumi, and Ryujo found themselves in the halls approaching Kagero's impromptu sick bay, the older carrier lugging a tray with a covered pot and thermos. Kasumi, impatient as ever, kept busy by suspiciously side-eyeing Ryujo.

"And _why_ are you coming with us, again?"

"I'm bored and Kagero's always good for a few laughs," was the answer. Kasumi pondered this for a few seconds before shrugging.

In any case, they reached the impromptu sick bay and entered with no more trouble. Kasumi entered first, announcing their arrival by saying, "There, I brought Hosho, soup, and the Coke. You'd better be grateful!"

Her only response was a deep, hacking, and yet rather dry cough. A cough that dragged on. And on. And then only stopped when Kagero blew her nose like a battleship's foghorn. Once again, the two carriers exchanged looks, but these were less knowing and more concerned. Regardless, Hosho went to work, Ryujo leaning over the back of the couch Kagero was parked on.

The destroyer looked utterly miserable, bundled up tight in blankets, her face flushed, nose running, and expression scrunched up in pain. Shiranui, knelt beside the couch, looked lost, as did Arare, and Kasumi looked stricken from her position away from the couch. And then Ryujo had to lean back when Kagero let loose with another coughing fit, all the while clutching... her... oh crap.

As Kagero took a sip of Coke, Ryujo asked, "Headache?" That got a nod. "Stabbing pain in the ear area?" A whimper, and another nod. "Does it feel like you're trying to cough out your lungs?" Another coughing fit neatly answered that question. "Right. Hosho, can you handle this alone for a bit? I need to talk to the other girls."

Much to her pleasure, Shiranui, Arare, and Kasumi all stiffened. They stiffened further when Hosho offered the younger carrier a smile and a quick "Of course!" before she returned to spooning chicken soup in Kagero's mouth. Ryujo marched outside, the destroyers followed, and she gave them all her best stern face.

"So. Does the word 'pneumonia' mean anything to you three?"

Had the subject matter been any less serious, Ryujo would've found the reactions that got utterly hilarious. Arare barely shifted from her usual calm deadpan, but oh what a shift it was! Her eyes widened to comical proportions, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Kasumi's eyes were watery, her mouth scrunched up, and overall she looked about ready to cry. And then there was Shiranui, who seemed to have 404'd entirely.

"Okay, calm down, this isn't _that_ bad," Ryujo assured them. "But... look, home remedies are nice and all for a mild cold, but Kagero's got something serious and you should really be calling a doctor or repair ship for that."

"Okay..."

~o~

"Well, I must say," the doctor they ended up calling said, pulling back from Kagero. "This is one of the more nasty cases of the flu I've seen. Mild pneumonia, an ear infection-"

"She won't die, will she?!" Kasumi wailed, grabbing the doctor and shaking him. "Please tell me she won't- ack!"

"Behave," Ryujo snapped, releasing the destroyer's collar.

"Ahem... well, the good news is that the ear infection seems to be an opportunistic bacterial infection. The rest is just flu. Keep her hydrated, keep her rested, and I'll authorize some antibiotics from the commissary. If she gets worse, contact Akashi."

"Got it."

~o~

 _"Commander T Cell! We need reinforcements in the respiratory tract, we're only barely containing the virus as it is!"_

 _"Commander T Cell! Urgent reinforcements needed in the cranial region! The bacteria are mounting an assault!"_

 _"Commander T Cell! We have a situation in the gastrointestinal tract! If we don't reroute forces immediately we'll have a full-on outbreak of gastroenteritis on our hands!"_

 _"Ara ara... we appear to have several enemy strongholds in the sinuses..."_

Commander T Cell slammed her fists against the counter. "Damn!" she spat. "I didn't want to have to do this... Helper T Cell! Contact... _them."  
_  
The Helper T Cell, male, mousy, and dressed like a secretary, gasped. "Commander, you can't-!"

"This is an emergency, dammit!"

Grimacing, Helper T Cell reached for the Big Red Phone. He lifted the glass, and took a key from around his neck, pressing it into its lock. Beside her, Commander T Cell did the same. They twisted the keys, simultaneously. Then, and only then, could Helper T Cell pick up the phone and dial the one number on the network.

"All naval personnel. Prepare to repel boarders!"

For a long moment, there was only silence and gobsmacked stares in the command centers. Then, the ground shook. And again. And again. T Cells all scrambled to the windows, staring at the massive, lumbering, beady black-eyed form walking past. Despite its size, it threaded through the streets with tremendous delicacy, and in its hands it clutched a rifle that at its scale more resembled an artillery piece.

"God help us..." Commander T Cell breathed.


	384. Rule 3340

**Rule 3340. Before considering on "helping out" in eradicating any invasive species if you wish to volunteer for,** ** _please_** **read up the local regulations and talk with the local agencies before you do so!  
**  
In what was becoming something of an annual tradition (much to the grief and hair-pulling of state fire officials), California was on fire. Well. Not the _whole_ state. Just a vast swathe of the east of the San Francisco Bay Area. Thousands of acres of grass and oak and eucalyptus forest blazed, blanketing the metropolitan region in smoke (again) and encroaching rapidly on both the coastal cities west and the valley cities east. Firefighters across the state had been mobilized, Wreck had called up the upper management of several telecom companies regarding potential throttling and why that was a bad idea, and the shipgirl fleet in San Diego had been called up, seaplanes and aircraft modified to lug water and firefighting chemicals.

Fire investigators were also hard at work trying to figure out _what_ had caused the blaze. The usual suspects - PG&E incompetence, discarded cigarettes, improperly lit fires - were all tossed around and then discarded on strength of the starting point: smack dab in the middle of the wooded hills, miles away from any of the roads, and nowhere near a campsite. An illegal campfire couldn't be ruled out, but it was damn unlikely.

Then they found a discarded jerrycan. A _WWII_ jerrycan. And then California was flagged in San Francisco airport trying to fly back to the Pacific Northwest.

The causation was not hard to establish.

Which was why California found herself in a... okay, it was usually a TSA interrogation room, three battleships looming over her. Faced with such a judgement, she could only say one thing.

"Oops?"

"'Oops' is insufficient!" Massachusetts snapped. "What were you thinking, California?!"

"Don't tell me you were hanging out with Phoenix again," Missouri stated. "You promised Tennessee you'd stay away from her."

"Now, come on, ease up on the poor woman," Alabama interjected, hands raised placatingly. "She doesn't have a history of arson; I'm sure there's a good explanation." Left unspoken was a 'There'd better be' hanging in the air like the proverbial Sword of Damocles.

Sweating like a glass of iced tea in a Mississippi summer, California decided that her best option was full honesty.

"It's those damn eucalyptus trees," she spat, finding herself spooling up to a rant. "They're an invasive species, pushing out native plants and animals. They're a righteous pain in the ass, dropping their bark all over the goddamn place. And worse, they're a _fucking_ fire hazard! Wait, sorry, I take that back, because they don't catch fire. They're too busy _exploding_ to catch fire! Someone needs to get rid of them, and it might as well be me!"

Panting, California slumped in her hard metal chair. Her three interrogators, meanwhile, could only gape at her. Finally, Alabama found some words.

"Let me get this straight," she said, voice tight as a bowstring. "Your strategy to remove eucalyptus trees from California... what you yourself have described as an _extremely_ flammable tree... was to set them on fire."

A pause.

"Shut up."

~o~

"Australia..." Canberra asked, voice dripping with trepidation. "What the _fuck_ are those?"

"Bullet ants."

Silence for a few seconds. Then...

"Okay, but why though?"

"To get rid of the bloody cane toads."

Silence, again.

"I think this is another case of the cure being worse than the disease. Australia _already_ has a reputation for being full of obnoxiously and deceptively dangerous creatures. We don't need another."

"... Yeah, maybe you have a point."

Canberra began to breathe a sigh of relief-

"It'll be more efficient to _burn_ them out!"

"Australia, no!"

"Australia, yes!"


	385. Rule 3344

**Rule 3344. Storks are considered a symbol of good luck in Europe. Them nesting on a naval base does not mean the bigger girls are going to find little destroyers.  
**  
Popular imaginings of the Admirals' international meetings tended towards the sort of heroic briefings you saw in movies, where everyone worked together to devise a global strategy that would crush the bad guys under an avalanche of shipgirls. More realistic portrayals depicted them as rather dull affairs mostly devoted to sorting out logistical schedules.

Now, neither depiction was entirely wrong, but they were overall inaccurate. Mostly in that the meetings were a lot less... controlled than imagined. Especially since Roma was de facto elevated to the Italian position and started attending the meetings herself.

"We need more carriers!" she barked, slamming her fist on the table. "The Island Siege Empress outproduces our conventional jets and we have nowhere near enough shipgirl airpower to counter her aerial might!" Visibly smoldering, she scanned over Collingwood, Holloway, and Goto, in command of the three main carrier forces. The former two immediately threw up their hands in warding gestures.

"Look, I've already shipped off Indomitable to Alexandria, I don't have any more carriers to spare," Collingwood said, sounding apologetic. "We have our own problems with Abyssal aircraft in the air, after all."

"And I've already given you a carrier task group that I'm pretty much resigned to never seeing again," Holloway said, a hint of menace present. "I _cannot_ spare another; Abyssal carrier strength is at its strongest in the Pacific."

"You've got _how_ many task groups under your command again?" Masson icily prompted. "Nine? Ten? You can spare one more, I'm sure."

"Um-" Goto tried to interject.

"I'm not diverting more of my strength until I get a fucking timetable on when you're going to attack that damn Abyssal - and incidentally, when I'm going to get my shipgirls back!" A decidedly _vicious_ smile spread over the American's face. "Surely that can't be too hard."

"Maybe you could ask Aquila. Oh, wait, she's in the docks, because an Abyssal submarine sniped her on patrol! Oh, if only we had more carriers..." With that, Roma swooned dramatically.

"Er, Admirals-" Hartmann tried.

"Yo, if you're done with your fucking pissing matches, maybe we could talk about getting a few dozen escort carriers back onto the Atlantic routes?" Lombard snidely interrupted. On the one hand, that united the squabbling factions. On the other, it was against her.

"No way, we need them for the Midway operation/for the Malta operation!" Freezing, Holloway and Masson shot icy glares at each other.

"Bloody hell, this is never going to end..." Admiral Graham muttered, scooting closer to Goto and Hartmann as the rest of the admirals descended even further into petty squabbling. "You looked like you had something to say, Goto."

"I have four carriers on the sidelines for lack of escorts," the Japanese admiral answered, frustration dripping from every word. "And all I'd ask for in return is a cruiser squadron or two; I'm sure Britain can spare _that._ "

"We were going to bring it up together at this meeting, but, well..." Hartmann wordlessly indicated the argument. "That happened."

Graham sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Tell you what, I'll see if I can't browbeat Collingwood into accepting. _After_ this meeting."

~o~

"Italy!" Katsuragi declared, spreading her arms wide. "Sun! Beaches! Pasta!" Her eyes drifted towards the nearest beach. "Bronze-skinned hunks in Speedos!"

"This was the last ocean Aso was seen in," Kasagi muttered, eyes wild. "She's here. And I'll find her, and drag her back, even if I have to break every bone in her body!"

The two carriers stepped forward - and promptly choked on their collars, Amagi and Unryuu holding them back.

"Indulge your hobbies at a later time, girls," Amagi admonished.

"That's right. The Mediterranean is a beautiful sea, but it's also a dangerous one."

The Japanese carriers turned to find an American waving in greeting. "Hey! I'm Bennington, I'm one of the American carriers assigned here. C'mon, I'll show you around!"

And so Bennington did just that. The docks, the mess (which smelled utterly heavenly), quite a few local amenities, and then finally the barracks. The barracks which were positively _festooned_ with storks.

"Er, congratulations?" Amagi offered. "I see we're going to have a lot of little destroyers running around in a few months..."

"You should be more careful," Unryuu stated.

"Yeah, sex doesn't have to lead to pregnancy," Katsuragi chimed in, nodding knowingly.

Bennington just facepalmed. "Oh for- They're good luck symbols, not signs of impending babies!"

"So the cartoons lied to us..." Kasagi gloomily concluded. "Just like everything else in life. Joy... love... pain... evil... all lies the world tells us..."

That earned her a sidelong stare from Bennington. "Er, is she alright?"

"No," Kasagi's sisters all chorused immediately.


	386. Rule 3354

**Rule 3354. Don't attempt to find new alternate personalities in Kongo's psyche.  
**  
"... this is... is... equipment..."

"... course! ... know anything... science?!"

Kongo, her consciousness slowly returning from dreamland, resisted the urge to open her eyes. After all, the _last_ thing she remembered was passing out in the middle of teatime with Kirishima. A quick test of her arms confirmed that yes, she was tied up, which lent a lot of weight to the 'kidnapped' hypothesis. Well, joke's on them, because all she'd need to do was slip into the-

It wasn't working. Why wasn't it working?

"Ah, I see you're awake, Kongo."

And _that_ was an unfamiliar voice. Kongo opened her eyes, glaring at her captor. "Who are you?" she growled.

The woman in front of her had the familiar features and blonde hair of a German shipgirl. But German shipgirls generally didn't have cat ears or a wagging tail poking out from under their skirt, nor a uniform inspired more by Imperial Germany than Nazi Germany.

"Name's Helmut Kohl, hi. And before you're ask, you're here to indulge a question of mine I've had for a while. Sorry about sealing your abilities, but otherwise you'd just leave and that wouldn't answer the question."

"Do what you will; you won't get any answers from me," Kongo snarled in reply. After Chester... the airship girls had gone from "odd mystery that may not even exist" to "shoot on sight". And on that note... Kongo glanced around. She was in a basement. A bare, concrete basement with some odd machinery in one end - as well as an actually familiar face. Wearing a labcoat. And, from both what said coat exposed and the luminescent blush on her face, nothing else.

"Kooooohl!" the airship girl whined, tugging down the front of the coat. "Do I really have to do this?"

"Of course!" Kohl declared.

"... Let me rephrase. Do I have do this wearing... well, what I'm wearing? At least let me-!"

"Of course!" came the declaration again, this time accompanied by a trickle of blood from Kohl's nose.

"This is _embarrassing,"_ Kongo groaned.

Apparently satisfied, Kohl wiped the blood for her nose and turned around as if nothing had happened. "Now, where were we? Oh, right, you declaring that you'll never give anything up and yadda yadda yadda. Let's just skip to the part where I remind you I don't need you to actually _tell_ me anything." Kohl's grin widened to rather frightening proportions. "In fact, you won't need to do anything at all. I am Helmut Kohl. I do not ask. I _take._ Canton, do the thing!"

"Yeah, yeah..." The other airship girl pulled a lever, at which point the machinery began to hum. A bowl-shaped attachment floated down towards Kongo's head, and upon seeing that the battleship began thrashing in her chair, an icy pit in her stomach screaming 'Danger! Get away!' Of course, she was still tied up, so it didn't do anything. The helmet plopped down on her head, Kohl barked some orders, a humming sound, and then everything...

Went...

~o~

Kongo's third awakening of the day was easily the worst of the three. Granted, surpassing the first - waking up entertwined with her Admiral - in that regard the easiest thing in the world. Kind of hard to top waking up tied to a chair, though. But yes, this awakening managed it, because Kongo awoke still tied up, except face-first on the concrete with a pounding headache.

And voices. Lots of voices, in several different languages, except... all the same? And familiar? What?

"Look, we can bicker later. In the meantime, don't we have a shipgirl to help?"

 _'English?'_

Hands grasped Kongo's shoulders and hauled her up, someone else snapping her bindings. Unconsciously rubbing her wrists, Kongo looked up at her savior: herself.

She blinked. The other Kongo blinked. Only then did Kongo begin noting some differences. The other Kongo's hair was a much lighter shade of brown, done up in a long braid rather than Kongo's own buns. The features were subtly more European than Kongo's own Japanized face. Oh, and her uniform top was a British pea jacket.

"You're... me?" Other Kongo breathed.

"Looks like," Kongo replied in English, wincing at her accent. "Got hit by delays, British bought you off the stocks?"

"Yes. They named me Indestructible."

"It's a good name!" Kongo declared, clapping the slightly shorter battlecruiser on the shoulder. "Mind introducing me to everyone else?"

Suddenly, Kongo was hit from behind by something that sent her staggering a few feet forward. "Hi! I'm Constitution! But you can call me Konnie, all my friends do!" came the Brooklyn accent of _another_ Kongo, this one red-haired and even more European than Indestructible.

 _'Huh. So this is what it feels like,'_ Kongo noted. Now she could see why people could be annoyed by it.

Somebody promptly plucked Konnie off of Kongo, revealing a third doppelganger, largely unchanged from the hybrid features Kongo had sported before her big rebuild. "Behave," she snapped at Konnie. "Sorry about this one. I'm Canberra, pleased to meet you."

"And over here..." Indestructible indicated three more Kongo's bent over two quivering piles of pounded meat near the machinery that had done all this in the first place. "That's Sevastopol, Lemnos, and Kongo."

Kongo frowned. "But wait, _I'm_ Kongo."

"That, uh, that's the fourth of the Hiei-class," Konnie answered, her voice melancholy. "She's, uh..."

 _'A replacement goldfish for me,'_ Kongo mentally noted. _'Great. Cross-country family drama.'  
_  
"Вот так я и собирался стать ..."

Canberra, Constitution, Kongo, and Indestructible all exchanged confused looks. "So, does anyone know what she just said?" Indestructible asked.

"Oh, thank God it wasn't just- hrk!"

Suddenly, all six alternate Kongos seized up, their forms... _blurring_ and turning mosaic, for lack of a better term. "What the-"

"Αυτό δεν είναι καλό," Lemnos muttered.

"No shit," Constitution groused, Sevastopol throwing up her hands for some reason. "Anyone want to bet that's because we're in the wrong reality or something like that?"

"Then we need to get you all back home, ASAP," Kongo decided.

 **CV12Hornet presents: A Rulesverse Side Story: The Crisis of Infinite-  
**

"Oh no you don't!" Kongo barked, bodily shoving the title away to the bewilderment of everyone else. "We're not doing an entire epic storyline based on this! It's the crassest sort of following the leader! Good grief..." Turning back to the Kongos, she gave them a beaming smile and a thumb's up. "Anyway, we've got some very smart people back in Japan. Just grab the equipment and the airship girls, and they can reverse-engineer a solution."

"What girls?" Other Kongo finally spoke for the first time.

Kongo's gaze whipped to the piles of meat - which were now gone. Equipment was still there, at least.

"Oh, whatever," she sighed. "We'll worry about it later."


	387. Rule 3361

**Rule 3361. Who had the bright idea to okay a tankery tournament without vetting the plans for the tanks brought along?**

 **In four naval bases around the world:  
**  
"Hmm, a tankery tournament, huh? Let's see... twenty tanks, kill 'em all setup, held in France... tank restrictions, where are the tank restrictions..."

"..."

"The only restriction is that it can't be in service today."

"... Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Oh, yes. We'll show all the other nations! We'll show them all! Bwahahahahaha!"

 **Two weeks later, the field of play:  
**  
USS Jerome County breathed in the crisp autumn air of the French countryside. A perfect day for tankery. In the end, only the British, Germans, and Russians had bothered to field a force. The French line was too interrupted, and the Italians and Japanese were saddled with decidedly weaksauce tanks. From the rumor, there _had_ been an attempt at a Japanese team. Also from rumor, that attempt had drive Akitsu Maru to a three-day drinking binge that had found her in her underwear sitting on top of the main gate to the Yasaka shrine.

Chuckling at the memory, the LST glanced over her force. Three platoons of Easy Eight Shermans sat idling on the field. They were her hammer, her maneuver force, intended to go around the enemy and herd them. With how many heavy tanks everyone else was probably going to field, she had a good feeling about this strategy. And her anvil... a platoon of Pershings, and a pair each of M29 and M30. Bending the rules a little bit, but Jerome County couldn't care less. Their 105mm and 155mm guns, not to mention elephant-like armor, would serve them well against the kind of heavies the Russian and German teams were sure to be fielding.

An impressive force, if missing one of their number: a Sherman dispatched on reconnaissance.

"Captain! We've spotted Commander McCook's tank!" Frankford, in command of the M29 next to her command tank, barked. "She just burst out of the treeline like she's got an MBT on her tail!"

Frowning, Jerome County picked up her binoculars and scanned the treeline. Sure enough, there was McCook's Sherman, clearly pushing the engine way past safe limits. It sure looked like they were being chased by something; the only questions was _what?  
_  
The answer was provided a moment later, a veritable _swarm_ of Centurion tanks shepherding three Conquerors and an unknown but unfamiliar vehicle in the middle, followed shortly by a swarm of _T-54s_ shepherding what looked like a quartet of _T-64s.  
_  
"Oh, those rotten cheating scoundrels!" Jerome County spat. "And what the hell is that last British tank?"

Zooming in, she eyed its characteristics. The hull resembled the three Conquerors around it, but the boxy, rear-mounted turret was an oddity.

"Holy shit that's an FV215!" Frankford yelped.

Wait, what? FV215... FV215... Jerome County paled dramatically.

"Isn't that the one with the fucking _183mm_ gun?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Frankford replied, fear coloring her voice. "If even _that_ monstrosity is running... what the _fuck_ is chasing it?"

"I don't know," Jerome County admitted. "But I'm thinking we should get to a reverse-slope position, just in case."

The message was passed up the line, and the tanks retreated behind the slope of the ridge they'd parked themselves on. And none too soon, for the real pursuer soon burst out of the trees.

And by "Burst out of the trees", I mean "Flattened them like toothpicks". Jerome County felt her eye twitch at the massive bulk of the vehicle, dwarfing the Panther and Tiger tanks swarming around it like minnows. The massive naval-style twin turret. The flack mounts to the rear. A casemate 128mm gun forward. Yup. That was a P1000 Ratte, alright.

"Right," Jerome County decided. "We're falling back. McCook's on her own. We'll let the lobsters and Russkies try and take that thing down first."

"I like this plan," Frankford decided. "Uh... and if they don't?"

Jerome County smirked. "Then it's time for the Whizbangs."

~o~

"Assholes!" McCook spat at the dust could that was almost certainly her teammates de-assing the area with the quickness. "Get back here and die with me!"

There was no response. Not that she expected any. Sighing, she turned around and eyed their progress.

"So, good news/bad news time," she said as she clambered down from the commander's cupola.

"I think I'd like to hear the good news first," her gunner Frazier replied, loader Forrest and driver Nicholson all nodding in agreement.

"Well, the good news is that we're staying ahead of our pursuers, and they're not shooting at us."

Gunfire roared, followed shortly by a sound of the sky tearing and then a scream of tortured metal.

"Gonna go out on a limb and say that's because the stupid Krauts still have their Ratte," Nicholson deadpanned. "On that note, engine's holding up, and so is the transmission, but at the speed we're going we're gonna throw a track or bust the suspension sooner rather than later."

"I'm aware," McCook sighed. "Just keep pressing as much as possible. And look on the bright side: everyone else's tanks are gonna break down way sooner than ours."

"HO GEEZ!"

Everyone in the tank was thrown against the nearest hard surface by Nicholson jerking the wheel. McCook, rather than reprimand her, popped her head out in time to see a T-54 go _bouncing_ across the grass, bits flying off.

"Jerome, now would be a really good time for Plan B to go into operation..."

~o~

"Hmm... my instincts are saying that McCook would really want us to go to Plan B right about now..." Jerome County mused.

There was a long moment of silence.

"So, are you going to actually..." Frankford prompted.

"Fire!"

Behind her, all eleven of her Shermans seemingly caught fire. However, when the smoke cleared, the tanks were still intact, and sporting a large rack of now-empty tubes on top of their turrets. A casual observer might be forgiven for thinking them Calliope rocket Shermans. However, these were not Calliopes; these were Whizbangs, firing much larger 7.2" rockets.

The rockets arced up, and then arced down, in a perfect spread to have most of them hit the lumbering Ratte.

And considering each rocket held 32 pounds of high explosives...

~o~

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT'S IT! RUN! RUN, YOU LITTLE GNATS!"

"Sister, stop!" Scharnhorst pleaded. "You're going mad with power!"

"Of course I'm going mad with power!" Gneisenau retorted. "Have you ever tried going mad _without_ power? It's boring, no one listens to you." The main guns barked again. "Besides, if I hadn't gone mad with power, I wouldn't be enjoying myself nearly this much! Mwahahahahahaha-!"

*WHUNK!*

*CRASH!*

*THUD!*

All of a sudden, the mighty war machine was rocked by what felt like the hand of God reaching down and pimpslapping them all repeatedly. Or getting thrown in the world's largest washing machine.

"Guh, spin cycle sucks..." Gneisenau groaned, reaching up to block the sunlight streaming into her eyes. Wait. Sunlight?! Gaping, Gneisenau stared at the torn hole in the roof of her precious war machine. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

~o~

"Stupid boche..." Richelieu groaned as the remaining tankery teams tore into the terrified German tanks huddling in the dubious shelter of the wrecked Ratte. "Who d'you think's got to clean this up?!" A contented smile spread over her face. "Then again, it is nice hearing her scream like that."


	388. Rule 3363

**Rule 3363: You may not gift wrap Enterprise for Yamato's birthday.  
**  
It was a nice, quiet day for Yamato, who had parked herself on her couch with a stack of novels she'd picked up during her last trip to a used bookstore. Enterprise was in the States visiting her sisters and Yoshino was with Musashi getting spoiled by her doting aunt, so it was just her for the moment.

The doorbell rang. Frowning, Yamato placed a bookmark in her book and got up to answer the door. As it turned out, it was a package delivery, a small pushcart resting under the massive box.

"Just sign here, ma'am," the deliverer said, holding out a clipboard.

Frown intensifying, Yamato signed and then hauled the box in. Placing it down, she cocked her hands on her hips. "I did not order you," she said. "So what are you and who sent you here?"

The box didn't answer. So, Yamato quickly cut the tape and opened up the box.

Inside was Enterprise, curled in a fetal position on the bottom of the box and wrapped up in satin ribbons and nothing else. Several wound across her mouth, keeping it shut tight. Her eyes shot to Yamato, pleading for her to undo the restraints.

Slowly, calmly, Yamato re-closed the box and then pulled out her cell phone, dialing a specific number.

 _"Y'ello?"  
_  
"Hi, Chester. I need you to talk to Ayase about-"

 _"Oh, hey, you must've gotten our present! So, so? How'd you like it? It was really hard to find the right kind of satin and-!"  
_  
Face blank, Yamato hung up on Chester, and dialed another number. _"'Sup?"_ Houston asked a few seconds later.

"Did you know that Chester and Ayase just mailed me Enterprise tied up in satin ribbons in a cardboard box as a birthday present?"

There was a moment of silence on the line. Then Houston began cursing, loudly and at length, in five different languages. Eventually, though, the tirade came to an end.

 _"I'll talk to Hornet and Yorktown,"_ the American cruiser wearily sighed.

"Thank you."

Hanging up again, Yamato walked back to the box and opened it up again, looming over her lover. Enterprise's eyes widened in relief - relief that turned icy cold when Yamato's face split into a lecherous leer. Slowly, the battleship reached down and pulled out the carrier.

"Oh, we are going to have _so_ much fun together..." Yamato purred, stroking a finger up Enterprise's spine.

~o~

The call connected, and Enterprise appeared on the screen, weary and bag-eyed but very much alive and intact. Yorktown and Hornet let go of breaths they didn't know they'd been holding.

 _"Hey, guys,"_ Enterprise said, voice tinged with exhaustion. She swayed, and then straightened, head in her hands. _"Ugh. I'm going to_ strangle _those two the next time I see them."  
_  
"Good luck with that," Yorktown muttered, thinking back to what she and Hornet had done to them. "Anyway, are you alright?"

A sigh. _"Yeah... mostly just exhausted. And sore. And this on top of feeling bloated and all-around off because of the little parasite in my belly."  
_  
"Parasite?!" Hornet yelped. "E, that's your _kid,_ a miracle of life, not a-!"

 _"Yeah, and I'm sure when the little rascal pops out I'll love her forever, but for now she's a serious goddamn nuisance."_

 _'Emergency change of subject!'_ Yorktown mentally wailed, casting about for a topic. _'I got it!'  
_  
"So, what _did_ Yamato do to you?"

A lecherous grin spread over E's face, Hornet groaned and covered her face, and Yorktown came to the sinking conclusion that she might have just fucked up.


	389. Rule 3369

**Rule 3369. Sonic warfare via loudspeakers and pop music is forbidden.  
**  
The time had finally come. With logistics in Hawaii opened up, and the US and Japanese navies finally freed from the endless game of whack-a-mole the Pacific front had devolved into, the combined fleets could move on the final prize in the Central Pacific: the Midway Princess. They had overwhelming force, stout logistics, and an enemy terrified out of her wits. It should have been a cakewalk.

WHAM!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"

Washington and Indiana, huddled behind a merrily burning frigate, winced as they watched Wisconsin go "blasting off again", as the kids said. Gulping, the battleships poked their heads above the frigate's weather deck line. Des Moines, Salem, Newport News, and Turner Joy were liberally pumping Midway Princess full of shells, but that wasn't stopping her from fending off a veritable hornet's nest of aircraft, nor from using Kongo to hammer poor West Virginia into the coral sands of the Midway Atoll. Finally satisfied, Midway Princess tossed Kongo at the cruisers and destroyer, bowling over Newport News and Salem. Des Moines and Turner Joy took the opportunity to bolt.

[ANYONE ELSE?!] Midway Princess demanded, a crazed look in her eyes.

Back behind the frigate, Washington and Indiana exchanged a glance, and came to the same conclusion: best to get out while the getting was still good.

~o~

"Well, that was a disaster," Zuikaku blandly remarked.

An ice pack decorating her head, Kongo glared at the carrier. Missouri looked no happier, and Hornet had a decidedly sour expression on her face.

 _"That's_ an understatement," the carrier groused. "Half the fleet's in dock for the next week and the other half are hard-pressed just to _contain_ the Midway Princess. Now, I was way back from the front lines, so could somebody please tell me what in the sweet baby Jesus happened out there?"

"Desperation does weird things to beings like us," Kongo groaned. "Past that I've got nothing."

"Regardless," Missouri cut in, pushing up her glasses. "We need to do something about here. I will not have this operation be a failure!"

Zuikaku leaned back in her chair, thinking. A blockade was out; fleet command wanted a decisive victory so they could properly _clear out_ the trans-Hawaiian shipping lanes. Another assault might work once everyone was healthy again, but that risked the Midway Princess clobbering them again. What to do, what to do...

She blinked, and grinned.

"I got an idea."

~o~

Midway Princess paced back and for the in the Midway lagoon, head on a swivel and eyes wide and bloodshot. The shipgirls had left, driven off, but they'd be back. Oh, they'd be back. And if she were to have any shot at fending them off again, she needed to be vigilant. Paranoid! Snarling, she lashed out and kicked over a chunk of coral. Anything could be an avenue for an attack!

So naturally, when the attack came, it was about as obvious as it got, blaring a guitar riff for everyone in a ten-mile radius to hear. Head whipping around, Midway Princess beheld a thundercloud descending towards the water, lightning and strobe lights flashing within. The cloud came to a halt about 1500 feet above the water, opening up to reveal a stage with four shipgirls with instruments on it, playing the music still blaring out. Growling, the Abyssal fired her anti-aircraft guns at the stage, only for the rounds to bounce off a fucking _force field.  
_  
That didn't stop Midway Princess from continuing to fire, if only to try - and fail - to drown at the music, which seamlessly transitioned into progressively harder and harder songs. By the time an hour was up, Seydlitz was screaming into the mic, Derfflinger's guitar was about as distorted as it got, and Lutzow looked to be getting whiplash from her drum-playing.

So it was little surprise when the band stopped playing and began packing it up. Midway Princess smirked - pathetic. That smirk promptly hurled itself off a bridge when Naka trotted onto the stage.

"Hellllooooo, Midway!"

[No...]

"I hope you're all having a wonderful day to day!"

[Noooooo!]

"But enough of that silly stuff! Let's get singing!"

 **[NOOOOOOOO!]**

~o~

Zuikaku glared down at the Midway Princess from her perch on top of the stage. Los Angeles and Brooklyn's two-hour rap battle. A Kidz Bop duet from Nii-chan and Hoppo-chan. A round of French House from Jean Bart. Hell, the Abyssal had even withstood Fuso and Yamashiro's godawful enka performance, and they'd had to cut that short twenty minutes early to preserve all their sanities.

"It seems we have no choice," the carrier decided, snapping her fingers. "Naka! Bring in... _them."  
_  
Naka, now dressed in a sweatsuit and nursing a cup of tea, paled dramatically. "That's our last resort!" she protested.

"The Midway Princess withstood Fuso and Yamashiro better than we did. We're _on_ our last resort."

Grimacing, Naka drained her tea and dashed backstage.

~o~

Down on the water, Midway Princess rubbed her ears and tried to keep her eyes open. It had been a fiendish assault, and she'd stood firm, and now the shipgirls had shot their bolt. There was no way they had anything worse in store than that _last_ performance. So she glared up at the stage.

 _[Do your worst, you- wait. Is that karaoke machine? Is that alcohol? Oh,_ shit, _those are destroyers!]  
_  
[I surrender!] Midway Princess shouted, falling to her knees. [Anything but that!]

"Aww, I didn't get to show off my elegant singing voice!" Akatsuki whined into her mic.


	390. Rule 3372

**Rule 3372. You may not fool religious fanatics into thinking you're the Messiah.  
**  
[And no one's seen Tanya?] Worktown asked, concerned but not too concerned. It was always a risk with Allied Abyssals: with the entire world at their fingertips, they had a tendency to just... wander out of communication for weeks on end. Most of the time, this was fine, but the memory of Bratislava loomed large. Half of the EU was still arguing with the other half about banning all Allied Abyssals from the union.

 _[If she's in the South Pacific, I haven't seen her,]_ Re-chan answered.

 _[Ditto for Hawaii,]_ Wonda added.

 _[And the West Coast,]_ Ayase rounded off.

 _[I'll put out some feelers.]_ Wreck's grin would've been offputting on a normal human's face; on a Re-class' sharktooth mouth, it was downright terrifying. _[I need to test out my Secstate candidates anyway, and we really don't need another Bratislava.]  
_  
Worktown huffed. Not the answer she wanted, but probably the best she was going to get. She was just about to end the vidcall when her phone informed her that she had another incoming message - from Tanya. Her expression brightening, she pressed the call button.

Tanya, a Ta-class battleship, was one of a very common class of Allied Abyssal: the kind seduced by modern comforts. Evidently, though, for Tanya that had merely meshed well with a longtime goal of hers, namely to become a comfy REMF and live a safe life. Well, now she had her wish, some money troubles aside.

So Worktown was expecting to find Tanya off on whatever adventure she'd decided on, possibly plastered and/or hungover to hell and back. She was _not_ expecting the vaguely popeish hat. Nor the gauzy linen dress Tanya was wearing. The candles weren't expected, either, but they were at least easily explained.

When someone in a vaguely priest-ish garb walked up, cut open Tanya's arm, and let the ichor that flowed out dribble into a goblet, Worktown leaped straight from confused to near-panicked.

[Tanya... what in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster are you doing?] she said, her voice level.

 _[Oh, this?]_ the Ta-class battleship replied, airily waving about. _[Well, apparently I'm the Messiah reborn. Gotta say, it's a pretty sweet gig.]  
_  
Worktown needed both hands to hold her phone, so it fell to her hat to slap her forehead for her. [Elaborate. Now.]

 _[Okay, so I was just walking along the street, minding my own business, when I walk past these preachers preaching on the street.]_ Worktown nodded; that _had_ been a feature of many of her visits to America. _[And while I'm walking past they suddenly go all quiet, and before I know it, they're all on their knees pawing at my clothes calling me the Messiah reborn. I think they're some sort of super-heretical apocalyptic Christian thing. But yeah, it's a great gig. Food, comfy furniture, sex slaves-]  
_  
[Wait, what-]

 _[And all for the low, low price of a speech every Sunday and a drawing of ichor for the congregation to drink!]  
_  
Worktown gaped in horror, searching for words. [Tanya, that kills people!] she finally managed.

Tanya blinked stupidly, clearly gobsmacked. Closer to the camera, the priest shuddered, nearly hacked up a goddamn lung, and then collapsed into a heap. The battleship glanced down, then chuckled ruefully and rubbed the back of her head. _[Oh, uh, really? Good to know!]  
_  
Groaning, Worktown ran her hand down her face. [Alright, here's what's going to happen,] she stated. [I am going to call San Diego and tell them to expect a phone call soon; _you_ are going to contact the police and have them get in touch with San Diego. And then, once whatever consequences they slap you with expire, we are going to forget this happened and _never speak of it._ Got it?]

 _[Yes ma'am.]_


	391. Rule 3378

**Rule 3378. After a mishap with the Fusou sisters, classes on how to stay safe online are now mandatory.  
**  
It was just another day in Yokosuka, with Ooyodo manning her usual position. Today, she was reorganizing and updating the personnel files, a long and tedious process. And that was before her screen locked up.

"What the..." she muttered, trying to do something. Ctrl+Alt+Delete failed to budge the screen, though it _did_ prompt a new window to pop up. Not that it was any more helpful. The screen, in much large lettering and colorful language, informed her that her computer had apparently been used to download child porn, and that to unlock the system she'd have to pay a fine to some anonymous collections website. She snorted. "At least use a Japanese law enforcement agency next time, you idiots."

Resigning herself to no computer while IT cleaned it up, Ooyodo was about to pull out her phone and give them a call when the door slammed open. Fuso marched in, dressed in casual clothes, and from the looks of things her general aggravation at the world in general had metastasized into some sort of anger cancer. And not simple anger cancer, either, some radiation-backed super-cancer that turned people into grotesque piles of mutated flesh. Except with anger instead of flesh.

Ooyodo shook her head, trying to dislodge the long-snapped metaphor. A faint groan did the trick, and her eyes darted down to the groaning lump of vaguely person-shaped flesh Fuso was holding by the remnants of a shirt. Ah. That probably had something to do with it.

"Fuso, please tell me that that was at least in self-defense," Ooyodo sighed.

"I think an experienced lawyer could make a case for that, yeah," Yamashiro replied wait what. "This _scumbag_ is a pedophile trying to lure kids into his grasp! Just like he tried to do with Fuso!"

Ooyodo glanced at Yamashiro's hair. Nope, still Fuso-length. But her voice... and now that she looked more closely, the facial structure was definitely more Yamashiro than Fuso.

"Okay, okay, back it up," Ooyodo said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Start from the beginning. Please."

"We don't have time for that," Yamashiro snapped, shaking her prize. "We need to get this scumbag locked up, and then we need to check on Big Sis. Who knows what-"

"Yamashiro."

The battleship paused at the tone of command.

"Fuso's a big girl, she can survive a couple more hours," Ooyodo continued, voice flat and level and dangerous. "Now. Explain. From the beginning. How you found out about this."

For a moment, Yamashiro looked like she was going to argue - or more likely, considering her tightly-wound, quivering rage, erupt like the Yellowstone Supervolcano. Thankfully, she closed her mouth in a grim line and explained.

"Okay, so, Big Sis joined a chatroom- wait, hang on, I need to back it up a little more. Big Sis wanted to act cute, so she got some lessons from Hibiki and hopped onto a chatroom pretending she was eleven. And I guess she forgot she was supposed to be eleven because when she was solicited by this guy-" Here she gave the groaning flesh-lump another shake. "She got all super-excited and wanted to meet him. Which, like, I'm happy for her and all, but why can't she ever look at me like that?! Why-"

"Ahem."

Yamashiro paused and blushed sheepishly. "Er, right. Anyway, the guy was setting off _all_ the alarm bells, so when Big Sis was offline I used her account to set up the meeting a little early, dressed up as her, met him, and beat him to a pulp!"

For a long minute, the whirring of the air conditioning was the only sound in the room. Ooyodo sat in her seat, mouth open and finger raised, her brain frantically trying to pick something to say between "You assaulted a civilian on a _witch hunt?!"_ and "How do you even know all this, anyway?!" and "What the actual fuck." Finally, she just settled on a flat, deadpan "What."

Yamashiro rolled her eyes. "Look, we don't have time for this. Who knows what other Internet dangers Big Sis might be running into?" Idly, she tossed the lump at Ooyodo's desk. "Here, take care of this. I'll be back in-"

"Oh no you don't!" Ooyodo snapped, rising. "I'm going with you to make _absolutely sure_ that you're not going to fly off the handle!"

Yamashiro grimaced. "Fine."

Internally breathing a sigh of relief, Ooyodo favored the battleship with a supportive smile. "Besides, how much trouble could she really get up to?"

~o~

Ooyodo stared. Yamashiro stared. The room was ripe with the acrid stench of melted plastic and burnt wood. What little they could see of the computer screen was not promising in the least. Oh, and Fuso was sprawled out on the floor, foaming at the mouth.

"Big Siiiiiiis!" Yamashiro screamed, sprinting over to cradle her sister in her arms. "Noooooooooo!"

Ignoring the drama, Ooyodo walked over to the computer and gave it a look. She had to resist the urge to retch. Malware popups decorated the screen at _least_ seven layers deep. No wonder the computer was smoking and wheezing like a chainsmoker with one foot in the lung cancer grave. And then it caught fire and began to melt.

"Okay..." the cruiser muttered. "Forget IT, I think we're going to need an exorcist. What the _hell_ was she doing on there?"

"Yes! She's alive!"

Glancing over her shoulder showed a deliriously happy Yamashiro.

"She's alive! Big Sis is alive! She just fainted!" A mild tinge of hysteria coated Yamashiro's words. Hysteria that then promptly vanished under incandescent rage. "Who did that?! I'm gonna kill them!"

"I think she did this to herself," Ooyodo dryly stated. "You would not _believe_ how many viruses she had stuck on her computer." She blinked, a thought occurring to her. "Hang on, is that where the damn ransomware came from?!"

Yamashiro said nothing. Even her big-sister complex was unable to refute the point.

"Inazuma is going to _kill_ something if we have replace the internal network again..."


	392. Rule 3379

**Rule 3379. Constructing bows for the carriers must be approved by both the admiral and the carrier's chief engineer fairy.  
**  
The atmosphere in the room was... tense. Uncomfortable. Anticipatory. All eyes were locked onto a steel door, leading deeper into the base's foundry.

Fubuki sighed, rubbed her eyes, and gave the rest of the fleet carriers - plus Zuiho - a sidelong glare. "Tone it down, will you? You're giving me a headache."

No response, though the pressure did loosen slightly. Just enough that Fubuki decided against busting out her aspirin bottle.

Finally, the door opened, and Zuikaku walked out. Though she wore the same kyudo-inspired outfit as before, it was now partially covered by a white haori with a distinctive double breast and an extra section of armor plating over the groin region. Her hair, long carried in a pair of high pigtails, now hung loose, and she wore a white headband. And, naturally, her flight deck and the associated machinery had grown more complex. Shokaku and Zuiho squealed. Hiryu, Taiho, and Akagi clapped politely but enthusiastically. And Soryu, one eyebrow raised, reached over and closed Kaga's open, gaping jaw.

"Do try to face the new era with _some_ dignity."

Zuikaku preened under the attention, but it was a mild, dignified kind of preening quite unlike the carrier's usual childish arrogance. Even more notably, she only preened for a few seconds before turning and bowing.

"Thank you, all of you," she said, straightening. "And now, Zuikaku Kai Ni is ready for action!"

"C-Congrats."

Zuikaku froze, her eyes wide, her smile collapsing into a small 'o' of surprise, and a light blush dusting her cheeks. She held this expression for a solid half minute before glancing away and scratching at her cheek.

"Thanks..."

Steam whistled out of Kaga's ears. The blush on _her_ face would've made for a good lantern.

Fubuki sighed. "Don't spontaneously combust on us, Kaga."

"Mimblewimble."

While all this had been going on, Junyo poked her head in, wheeling a cart stacked with boxes in front of her.

"Special delivery for the remodeled girl!" she declared. "These are all presents for you, Zuikaku."

"Gimme!" the carrier barked, diving into the pile and tearing open several packages at once. However, her frenetic work quickly came to a close, and she straightened up, a befuddled look on her face and several bows in hand of... _varying_ quality.

"What the heck?"

~o~

Thirty minutes later found Zuikaku and Kaga parked on the archery range, a pile of bows of... again, _varying_ quality sitting to the side. Yuubari was also present, having just finished setting up the high-speed camera.

"Okay," the cruiser said as she jogged back up. "You're good to start testing."

Nodding, Zuikaku picked up the first bow, turning it over. It curved in a similar shape to a "3", and was about as tall as the carrier's torso. "Hmm, wood and fiberglass," Zuikaku mused, plucking the string. "Hemp string, composite construction... well, let's give it a try."

Nocking an arrow, Zuikaku lifted her arms and the bow, then steadily tweaked the position. Only once she was satisfied did she release the arrow with a satisfying twang. It flew straight and true, and impacted the chosen target just off-center.

"Not bad," Zuikaku nodded, lowering the bow.

Her good mood lasted long enough to grab the _next_ bow. A straight curve, the wood looked stiff and the string was a piece of vine. Grimacing, Zuikaku nocked an arrow and pulled back.

The bow promptly snapped in two in a spray of splinters. Snorting derisively, Zuikaku just tossed it over her shoulder.

That set the pattern for most of the bows. Half would be decently made if unspectacular pieces, probably commercially produced. The other half were half-hearted and altogether half-baked home projects. Some were just incompetent, some showed the enthusiasm of untrained youth, all broke spectacularly.

"Well, this has been a spectacular waste of time," Kaga groused. "None of these bows have any chance of supplanting your current weapon; we should've left these in the boxes and been done with it."

"Meh, we at least had an obligation to open the presents," Zuikaku replied, picking up the last bow and looking it over. "Hmm, this looks interesting, though. I don't recognize the material."

Indeed, the body was made of an old silvery material. It almost looked like metal, except it had the give and elasticity of high-end wood. A simple d-shape in the flatbow style, it was nearly as tall as the carrier herself. And bowstring, while as unfamiliar in material as the body, didn't so much twang as _sing_ when plucked. Eyes wide, Zuikaku nocked one last arrow, pulled back, and fired.

With a crackling roar, the arrow _shot_ forward, leaving behind shockwaves and obliterating the first target it hit - and the second - and the third - and then the dirt berm and the retaining wall behind _that._ This was promptly followed by a feminine yowl of pain.

[GOD DAMMIT, THE ASS! WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE ASS?!]

Zuikaku blinked. Kaga blinked. Yuubari blinked, then scrambled for the high-speed camera. "Come on, come on, come on, come on..." she muttered as she fiddled with the device. "Oh, come on!"

Curious despite themselves, the two carriers shared a glance, then walked over to Yuubari to watch the footage over her shoulder. To their disappointment, even on the high-speed the arrow was just a blur.

"What was that bow _made_ of?" Kaga wondered.


	393. Rule 3382

**Rule 3382. Do not tell Hibiki she is not as Russian as she thinks she is. She'll either give you a bloody nose, which is the best case scenario, or take it as a challenge. Think about it on what that entails.  
**  
"You're not even that Russian!"

Hibiki's eyes narrowed at Kamikaze. Behind her, Akatsuki and Ikazuchi were frantically waving their hands. "Oh really?" she said in challenge.

"Yes!" Kamikaze blithely replied. "So kindly stop _acting like it._ Okay?"

"I see," Hibiki replied, nodding. "I must think on this."

"Guess that's the best I'm gonna get," the elder destroyer muttered as she watched Hibiki walk away. She frowned. "Though why do I feel like someone jabbed an icepick down my spine?"

~o~

With one last dotted I and one last crossed T, Inazuma leaned back, stretching her arms above her head and groaning contentedly. Finally, the mountain of financial paperwork she'd initially been saddled with had been conquered. The base's finances were better than ever, the wastage had been hacked down to size with a machete, and she was looking towards some _sane_ working hours in between training and sorties. Hell, she was in such a good mood that the knocking on the door made her feel _happier.  
_  
"Come in, nanodesu!" she cheerfully announced.

Hibiki poked her head in, and to Inazuma's confusion spat over her shoulder. Three times. Also, was that broken glass sitting in the corridor outside?

"I need a favor."

Inazuma raised an eyebrow. "What kind of favor, nanodesu?" she asked, very carefully. A little bit of nepotism and back-scratching was expected and accepted, but there were limits, especially for the finance department. Hopefully it was just something small.

"I need access to my trust fund."

That was not something small. "Denied," Inazuma immediately said.

To her surprise, Hibiki just nodded. "I thought you'd say that, so..." Reaching into her pocket, Hibiki rummaged around and pulled out- Kit Kats. Lots of Kit Kats. Kit Kats in every flavor imaginable.

Many goods had become scarce after the start of the Abyssal war sharply curtailed Japan's ability to trade with the outside world. Chocolate was especially hard to find; unlike sugar and coffee, for example, no one had been able to make a convincing case that it was essential for morale. Most Japanese shipgirls got the chocolate they ate from swaps with the Americans.

As it turned out, American Kit-Kats were depressingly limited in selection.

 _"Gimme,"_ Inazuma snapped, reaching out. No dice. Hibiki was out of reach.

"Unlock the account and I'll hand them over," Hibiki retorted.

Inazuma rocked back at the naked betrayal from her sister - and the equally naked corruption on display. It took a supreme effort of will, but the destroyer fought off her first instinct to cave and let professionalism take over. "No, nanodesu," she said, firmly. "And don't think being my sister is going to save you from-"

Suddenly, there was a first-edition modern She-Ra figure on her desk. Pristine condition. Joining it were several rare blind bag pony figurines.

"Pleasure doing business with you, nanodesu!" Inazuma chirped, sweeping the figures into her arms.

~o~

Tuesdays at Yokosuka's biggest and most shipgirl-patronized bar were... heady. Unsurprising, considering that was bar brawl night. And yet, while Tuesdays provoked disinterest from the bar staff, on Wednesdays they tended to come equipped with homemade body armor. Wednesdays, y'see, were poetry slam night, and considering the number of amateur poets among the shipgirls things could get... heated. Bar brawls were good fun, no hard feelings. Poetry critique... that tended to go personal in a hurry.

This week, though, there were no brawls, no shouting matches, and no busted furniture. Under the circumstances, though, the staff were in no position to enjoy this, outside of the bartender. He was immune; the rest were curled up on fetal positions on the floor sucking their thumbs.

The shipgirls in the bar were little better off. Most of them were in a similar position to the staff, or else sobbing on the floor. The only one still standing was Fuso, who smiled and gave a little clap.

"Excellently done, Hibiki!" she said. "That was a masterful conveyance of the feeling of existential despair!"

"Khorosho."

~o~

Akatsuki yawned, scratching cutely at her belly, and padded towards the bathroom. She didn't get far before bumping into Ikazuchi.

"'Zuchi...?" the destroyer sleepily mumbled. "What're you doing?"

"Waitin' for Hibiki to finish up in there," Ikazuchi groused. "She's taking forever this morning."

Blearily, Akatsuki stepped into line. At least it was only about ten minutes later that Hibiki stepped out, and at that point it was all the two could do to keep their jaws off the floor. Hibiki was not one to neglect her appearance, normally, but neither did she put in excessive effort. That had clearly gone out the window. The Hibiki standing in front of them sported loose but impeccably styled hair, subtly-done makeup that enhanced all her features, and a purple blouse and white skirt that Akatsuki immediately grasped cost more than Ikazuchi's entire wardrobe. And then there was the change in _attitude._ Hibiki usually radiated deadpan lack of fucks to give. Not anymore. An easy smile graced her face, and her demeanor was relaxed but... upright, instead of slouched. And then there was the jewelry. Tasteful jewelry, a necklace, earrings, and a finger ring, but all expertly made with expensive materials.

The overall effect was both elegant and _screamed_ "I'm richer than you".

"Доброе утро, сестры," Hibiki nodded to her sisters.

"Japanese, sis," Ikazuchi growled as she walked past into the bathroom. "And if you've clogged up the drain again, I'm stuffing you in rehab under an assumed name."

The door slammed shut, and silence descended for a moment. Then, Akatsuki turned to her sister, eyes sparkling. "Can you teach me this?!" she half-squealed.

"Конечно-!" Hibiki paused, looking embarrassed. "Er, of course I can. Why don't you get dressed and ready, and I can show you some things? I need to buy one last thing anyway."

Nodding like a headbanger at a death metal concert, Akatsuki parked herself in front of the bathroom door, practically vibrating with eagerness. Still, she didn't miss Hibiki pouring herself a shot of vodka. The purple-haired destroyer tore through her morning routine once Ikazuchi finished hers, and then followed Hibiki out the door. She either didn't notice or didn't care that Hibiki had torn through an entire bottle of vodka in that short time, nor that she shattered the bottle against the wall. "For good luck", she said. Ikazuchi did notice. She plain didn't care.

Or, perhaps, she was just waiting. When Tenryuu entered the room about twenty minutes after Hibiki left, Ikazuchi immediately threw her sister under the bus.

"Hibiki went to go buy cigarettes with Akatsuki."

"WHAT?!"


	394. Rule 3391

**Rule 3391. Please do not dump the contents of multiple energy shots (e.g. 5-Hour Energy) into large cups (e.g. Big Gulps) and drink them in one go.  
**  
Arashi glared at the door to Akigumo's room/workshop. It was almost time for Reitaisai, and Akigumo had been locked up in there for a solid 72 hours. Not for the first time, the redheaded destroyer cursed Yukikaze for getting their youngest sister into Touhou. Slowly, she raised her fist to knock again-

"I SWEAR TO GOD, ARASHI, IF YOU TRY KNOCKING AGAIN I'M GONNA TOSS YOU OUT THE WINDOW SO I CAN WORK IN PEACE!"

Yeah, whatever Akigumo had done to stay awake and draw for 72 hours, somehow it allowed her to read minds or see the future or _something_ like that. Bizarre. Bizarre, and more than a little worrying.

"Any luck?"

Arashi glanced towards Tanikaze, then to Shimakaze, and then down to the small, steaming pot Tanikaze was holding.

"I made zosui," Tanikaze answered the unspoken question, holding up the pot. "Figured Akigumo hasn't eaten anything."

"And I'm here to make sure she's not drawing another one of those Shimakaze-kun doujins," Shimakaze replied, shuddering. "Put it this way: Amatsukaze really, really likes them."

The other two destroyers considered that thought, then shuddered. "Well, good luck with that," Arashi said. "She's not letting anyone-"

"I'M IN THE ZONE AND I WILL NOT SHAKEN OUT OF IT!"

"Yeah, that."

Tanikaze opened her mouth-

"WHAT PART OF 'IN THE ZONE' D'YOU NOT GET, TANIKAZE!"

And then closed it, worry written all over her features. "Okay, yeah, this is a super bad one," she remarked, placing the pot down and rolling up her sleeves. "Bust down the door?"

"Agreed," Arashi and Shimakaze said in unison. "In three. One, two-"

The door swung open, and Akigumo poked her head out. This should've been a good thing.

It wasn't.

The destroyer's gray hair, normally done up in two neat pigtails, was loose, greasy, and stringily fell wherever it wanted. Her skin was pale and waxy where it wasn't marred by dark bags. Her whole body seemed to _vibrate,_ prompting Shimakaze to blanche in horror when she noticed. One fingernail was visibly missing. And underneath the rumpled, sweat-and-ink-stained tracksuit Akigumo wore she looked alarmingly thin.

Oh, and her eyes were a solid _pink_ at this point.

"It's done!" she said, her voice a half-octave higher than normal. "I can't feel my face, but I'm done! A complete, 277-page six-part doujin in 72 hours!" Her head twitched to the side, fast enough to give the watching destroyers a sympathetic crick. "Oh, and don't worry, everyone, I'm completely fine! I think pissed 99% blood the last time I went, but I'm fine!"

Abruptly, a stream of blood gushed from her mouth, her eyes rolled up in her head, and Akigumo flopped face-first into a pool of her own blood.

Arashi was the first to say something.

"Well, shit."

~o~

A few minutes later found Shimakaze poking through Akigumo's room. Arashi had gone to take Akigumo to Akashi, since she'd gotten blood all over her and needed to change anyway. Tanikaze had followed with her zosui, stating that Akashi didn't eat enough, either, and that she didn't want her soup to go to waste. That left Shimakaze the task of investigating the cause of all this - and, she belatedly realized, writing up the report to the Admiral.

She thunked her head against the wall, and muttered "Well played..."

Oh well, nothing for it. Shimakaze stepped back and took in the room. It was an odd picture: immaculate, except for a writing desk stained with ink and covered in paper. Oh, and it also _reeked._ Quickly, Shimakaze opened a window to air the place out before going back to the desk.

Her eyes fell on a Big Gulp-sized plastic soda cup. Frowning, she trotted up and tilted it over, giving it a sniff. Then, she tilted it further, a drop of liquid hitting her tongue.

It was like drinking beep soda and two pounds of candy, all crammed into one orange-ish drop of liquid. Shimakaze shuddered and promptly spat out the stuff into the wastebasket, though she still felt energized enough to solve fifty insanity-level Sudokus in one night. Going a bit green, Shimakaze considered the size of the cup and what Makigumo had put into it.

One second later she was out the door and sprinting down the hall.

~o~

"Well, that explains all this," Akashi griped, eyeing her clipboard. "Torn muscles and tendons, lots of small internal bleeds, exhaustion and malnutrition. At least her metabolism's stabilized from all that Five-Hour Energy she chugged, she's not going to be dying anytime soon."

"That's super good news for her doujin fans!" Tanikaze said.

"Assuming they get the chance to meet her. She's still appallingly toxic, and I don't even know the aftereffects of something like this. I'm going to have to very slowly and carefully flush this all out, lest I kill her."

"I have a new procedure for that!" Yuubari jumped in. "Should speed things up a bit. But Reitaisai is out of the question, regardless."

Arashi and Tanikaze exchanged worried looks. "Y'think we might be able to convince Maikaze and her band to take over?" Arashi pondered.

"Probably. They'd love the band publicity."

"I'll get her notes," Shimakaze sighed.


End file.
